


maison, été

by July_Ophelia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon Related, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I love happy stevebucky, Loki is a Good Bro (Marvel), M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Parent Bucky Barnes, Parent Steve Rogers, Physical Therapy, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Team as Family, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Uncle Sam Wilson, author projecting onto ofc, peter parker is a simp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/July_Ophelia/pseuds/July_Ophelia
Summary: "Trust your intuitionIt's just like going fishingYou cast your line and hope you get a bite"- Father and Daughter, Paul SimonThree Brooklyn natives, two super soldiers and one Midtown student, are brought together by a certain spider-boy and fellow Midtown student, Queens native Peter Parker.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	1. into the deep end, but with pizza

**Author's Note:**

> I'm July, welcome to my fic! I hope you enjoy your stay! :) Comments and suggestions are always welcome and encouraged. <3

“ _Please_ , Ezra.”

“No, Peter, I really shouldn't come over.” The teen declines politely for the third time. “I don’t want to bother May. Didn’t you say she was taking this week off?” 

Despite the loud chaos of Midtown’s crowded cafeteria and the fact that Peter’s mouth currently has a large spoonful of mashed potatoes in it, Ezra hears his indignant noise of protest loud and clear, and sighs. 

“We wouldn’t be at the apartment.” Peter drops unceremoniously, smiling mischievously when Ezra chokes on a bite of paper flavored cafeteria steamed carrots. 

“What the _fuck_ , Peter?!” She gasps, dropping the flimsy spork in her hand and tackling him into a hug. “Are you serious?”

Peter had given Tony adoption papers on the man’s forty-sixth birthday last month, hoping to forge a sort of joint custody between Tony and his aunt. Of course Tony had said yes and sent in the papers the very next morning. If all the paperwork went through on time, Peter was supposed to spend all summer with Tony while May went to volunteer with her church over the summer, providing medical care for underprivileged villages all over the world. She took the chance after she opted to transfer hospitals because her hours were becoming too much, deciding to take a perfectly timed summer off between jobs. 

“It’s official, we went to court this morning. Man, Ned and MJ are gonna be so annoyed it didn’t happen in time to tell them.” He grins, thinking about how to break the news to the other half of their friend group who are off the grid. Ned’s at his grandmother’s in Peru, and her house has the world’s worst service, and MJ left to be a youth empowerment camp counselor for the summer. “Will you _please_ come celebrate the end of the worst school year yet and the start of the best summer ever?”

“I’ll run it by the fosters.” She capitulates, sending off a brief text to her borderline neglectful but still decent foster parents who would probably rejoice in a night completely alone. 

Before the two can keep talking about the prospect of Peter’s new and completely insane life, they are interrupted by the bane of Peter and Ezra’s existence, Flash Thompson.

“What’s up with you two, broke and broken?” He quips, arms folded across his chest above the frankly, annoying salmon button up that makes him look like the pretentious clown he is, in MJ’s words. “Sucks you couldn’t be at the last decathlon competition to see me bring the team to victory, Ezra. While you were off getting a nice massage from your physical therapist I was actually contributing to the team.”

“Flash,” Peter’s sudden boldness is cut off by the end of the lunch bell, Flash stalking away before he can get a comeback in. He looks to his left at Ezra apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. He only has one routine on me and it’s getting tired anyway. I could get a better routine at the improv night at Jack’s.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood by referencing the seedy bar a block away from her current foster home that Peter joked was most definitely a mafia cover-up if the terrible quality of jokes he’d heard swinging by it once had any weight in the matter. 

They had good fries though, so he would sometimes pick a box up to go and swing to Ezra’s fire escape to share a late night snack and regale the highlights of his patrol. Peter had spent a good amount of nights crashed on the plush pillows of the bay window in her foster’s guest bedroom turned Ezra’s room, too exhausted to swing home. He would be in the bed, but the guest bedroom lock worked maybe half the time, so it was better to sleep across the room and have some form of plausible deniability if they got caught. 

The pair headed to their last classes of the day separately, Peter’s being advanced chemistry and Ezra’s being psychology, Ezra promising to text him to confirm she was allowed to ride home with Peter and sleep over. Her foster parents, the laissez faire NYC millennials that they were, texted back within two minutes with a simple confirmation, and the plan was set. Peter and Ezra met just inside the gates after the last bell to wait for their ride, and it’s only two minutes before a nondescript black Audi pulls up, Peter excitedly grabbing Ezra’s hand and pulling her towards the car, stopping briefly to be a gentleman and let her in first. Ezra recovers from the whiplash to look up and meet the gaze of a nice looking man with salt and pepper hair and a beard.

“Hey kid, nice to finally meet you.” He greets good naturedly. “I’m Happy.”

“I’m Ezra, nice to meet you too.” She responds politely as the car starts moving. 

“Oh, I know. Peter talks about you a lot.” He laughs, a low and calm noise that’s nice in comparison to the deep embarrassment both parties in the backseat feel.

“Happy, no!” Peter groans, face heated.

“No shame in being a proud boyfriend, bud.” Happy grins. 

“Good things then?” Ezra asks, recovering from the initial embarrassment and choosing to ignore the implication that she and Peter are an item. 

Happy nods, still grinning in pride at getting Peter flustered, and the car lapses into a semi-comfortable silence, soft rock playing from the speakers until Happy pulls into the garage at the tower and Peter jumps out of the car with a quick “Thanks, Happy!”. Ezra follows Peter to the elevator awkwardly after giving Happy a much less rushed thank you. 

“Good afternoon, Peter. What floor?” An automated female voice asks as soon as the doors close. 

“AI?” Ezra asks, spotting the speakers. “That’s sick.”

“Yeah, she pretty much runs the tower. Her name’s FRIDAY.” Peter explains. “The penthouse, please.”

The elevator takes them to the top floor promptly, and Peter leads Ezra to his room, momentarily stopping to let her take in the floor to ceiling windows along the far wall, the full view of the skyline looming behind them. Peter had gotten used to it to the point that it was just cool now, not existentially dwarfing like it was the first time he had seen it. Backpacks dumped on the floor of his bedroom, Peter and Ezra sit down on the queen bed and flop backwards, the insanity of a chaotic year rolling off their backs. 

“I need food.” Peter groans, flipping off the bed. 

“Show off.” Ezra mutters jokingly, still splayed out along the bed and refusing to get up, much to Peter’s chagrin. 

“I’m going to web you.” He says.

“Gross, I’m up! I’m up!” She groans indignantly, trailing behind Peter into the kitchen and wincing at the strain and pain in her left arm from using it to push off of the bed. 

Peter notices immediately, a mixture of super hearing and being in tune with Ezra after years of knowing each other. 

“You okay?” He asks, getting out bread and some kind of spread from the cabinet, waiting for a reply before he reaches for the ibuprofen. 

“Yeah, jesus.” She says, breathing through the bout of nerve pain. “I did another evaluation at physical therapy and all the moving around must have set it off.”

“Is it a meds day?” Peter asks, starting to spread what Ezra realizes is Nutella on far too fancy looking bakery bread. 

“Yeah, I’m not trying to breathe through it today. I want to have fun.” She nods, catching the bottle and taking the right dose, swallowing it dry. 

“You’re a psychopath.” Peter comments, sliding a bottle of water and her plate across the counter to her, leading the way back to his room.

“At least I’m not a spider.” Ezra smirks back, settling against the headboard with Peter as he scrolls through Netflix. “Wait, what episode are you on?” She asks, pointing to Love is Blind.

“Four I think,” He responds, finishing his first sandwich and pausing before starting his second.

“Me too!” She smiles, and so they start watching the cheesy Netflix romance, periodically making dramatic anguished noises and comments at the screen.

That’s what Tony came back to, instead of the tame awkward teens watching a movie in the living room weirdness he was prepared for. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Peter, respectfully, you have no taste. LC and Barnett have no chemistry.” He smiles as he hears the harmless banter accompanied by the grating cadence of a girl’s voice coming from the TV. 

Peter’s response is cut off by a knock at the door to his room, which is subsequently swung open by Tony. 

“Hey kids, how was genius school?” He greets, confidently leaning against the doorway and consciously both ignoring and filing away the flinch that comes from the girl sitting beside Peter on the bed. “Ezra, right?”

“Yeah,” She nods, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear shyly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“You too, kid. So Peter tells me you’re a people genius?” He asks curiously, Peter never being able to talk about Ezra long enough before Tony starts teasing him about his ‘girlfriend’.

“I like psychology.” She affirms. 

“Ah, gotta love shrinks. Anyway kiddos, dinner’s at six. Have fun!”

\----

The elevator stalls easily three floors below the penthouse on the common floor where dinner is meant to take place. Against her will, Ezra got dragged down here ten minutes early by Peter so he could introduce her. Ezra won’t tell him, but she absolutely hates introductions. After all, pitching the cliff notes version of herself to potential fosters and adoptive parents for years and having a track record of zero wins by doing so sort of pollutes the whole ‘meeting new people’ thing.

But Peter’s not stupid. He can tell she’s nervous. So he grabs her hand in his, offering a sobering and grounding squeeze, refusing to drop it despite the elevator doors opening, tugging her into the large and open living room space currently occupied by a fairly large group of adults talking and laughing, bordering rambunctious. Peter sees an open space across from the coffee table, leading Ezra to the large bean bag placed below the large TV mounted on the wall. 

“Peter, I’m going to kill you.” She murmurs from her spot close to him, knees touching, on the bean bag. “‘Small gathering’, my ass.”

“In my defense, it’s the Avengers.” He responds with a put on coy smile. He’s proud of his accomplishment. 

Ezra lets out an insincere “You’re insufferable.” and pushes his shoulder.

Bucky’s the first one of the group to notice Peter and Ezra’s presence, nodding at Peter from where he sits on the nearest short end of the C shaped couch. With a brief tap to Steve’s bicep to get his attention, Bucky gets up and makes his way over to the two teenager’s bean bag, snagging the second one for himself, setting it up in front of them and taking a seat. 

“Hi Mr. Barnes!” Peter greets enthusiastically, mindlessly fidgeting with Ezra’s hand, messing with the little fraying edges of the athletic tape helping to support her wrist. He does that a lot. Peter and stillness mix like oil and water. Ezra doesn’t mind, Peter’s contact is a comfort, some of the only comfort she ever gets. 

“Hi Peter, congratulations on making it official today.” He greets back, carefully looking towards the withdrawn girl to Peter’s right, not sure how to go about an introduction. Thankfully, Peter swoops in and Steve comes to sit beside him, saving the day.

“Thank you! This is Ezra, I was telling you guys about her while we were training yesterday, remember?” Peter asks, oblivious to the slight mortification Ezra feels at the thought.

“Hi,” They talked about her? How much did they know? Peter wouldn’t tell them everything, would he?

“Hello,” Steve smiles, reaching out his hand for a handshake easily. Ezra takes it instinctually, shaking his hand, intimidated by the way his palm dwarfs hers. Taking the cue, she offers her hand to Bucky, who takes it, smiling kindly at her firm handshake. 

“You’ve got a good grip, kid. Peter could learn from you, his handshake is like grabbing a limp noodle.” Steve jokes.

“It is not!” He protests, gripping Ezra’s left hand as if to protest, the jerking pulling on a corner of the tape painfully, the adhesive meant to stay on for a while getting ripped off the skin and sticking to the small hairs, making it sting. Ezra winces, minutely flinching. Before Peter can apologize, Bucky cuts in.

“Are you alright?” He asks, brow furrowing.

Ezra nods emphatically, dislodging her arm from underneath Peter’s and holding it out, showing off the cross shape that covers her forearm and her wrist. “He just tugged on the tape, no big deal. Happens all the time.” 

Steve and Bucky nod, calmly sitting back, assured that she’s alright.

“You wear that all the time?” Steve asks curiously, no judgement.

“Not all the time. I have weird joints.” She explains with a put on pleasant smile. It doesn’t necessarily make her sad to talk about it anymore, it’s not as sensitive because after a few years, most of the ambiguous big medical questions are answered. It’s just the way it is now, adjusted to the new normal. With her guarded smile still on her lips, she dismisses their concern. “It’s a whole thing, I won’t bore you with all the medical jargon.”

“As long as you’re fine.” Bucky nods, receiving a nod back from Ezra.

“Physically she’s fine. Mentally, she’s insane.” Peter kids.

“You do a presentation on criminal psychology _one time_.” She mutters, blushing. 

“Ezra, we were ten.” Peter snorts.

“You still decided to be my friend.” She bumps his shoulder with hers, turning towards Steve and Bucky. “He did his on Mr. Stark.” 

“I should pretend to be surprised.” Steve huffs a laugh.

“Well I am a lovely person, Cap.” Tony defends lightly, coming out of the kitchen. “Pizza’s here.”

Ezra stays seated for an extra second, her and Peter waiting for the adults to get up first, then following the group into the big open kitchen to find boxes of pizza stacked presumably by topping types, a stack of paper plates on the island. Still keeping a comforting hold on Ezra's hand, Peter leads them to the one open box of cheese pizza. Peter sets down his plate onto the counter, using his left hand to place three slices onto his plate and set two on Ezra’s for her. Neither teen senses the amused and curious watchful eyes of the rest of the group on them. 

Natasha smirks at Steve when Peter wordlessly grabs a can of coke and a can of pepsi, handing Ezra the pepsi on the way back to the living room. Peter sets his plate down on the coffee table to drag their bean bag closer to the group, flopping down on it while Ezra chooses to gingerly sit instead. Steve and Bucky return to their spots on the short end of the couch, the long end and other short piece occupied by Natasha, Tony, Rhodes, and Bruce. The conversation is easy, Ezra sits back and listens, taking in the group dynamic around her. Peter must love it here, getting to stay with so many fiercely devoted people who all possess the same internal spark of momentous passion that Ezra sees in Peter. It’s community. It’s family, and now it’s Peter’s home.

Peter’s lucky to have two.

“Where are you from, kid?” Steve asks suddenly, easy smile on his face.

How do you answer that? Born in Brooklyn, raised in Brooklyn, then Manhattan, then Queens, then the Bronx for three concerning days when she was ten in a foster home that had a floor more clutter than carpet, and back to Queens. She would say the city but that’s not what he’s asking and she knows it.

“Huh? Oh, Brooklyn, I’m from Brooklyn.” Ezra decides after a moment of contemplation, nose twitching. 

“I knew you were from the city when you folded your slice.” He grins. “You go to school with Peter?”

“Unfortunately.” She jests. 

“I thought you wanted to be roommates at MIT?” Peter throws a hand up to his chest, fake scandalized. “Are you filing for roommate divorce before we even graduate high school?”

“I’ll see when you draft the roommate prenup, Parker.” Ezra responds, fiddling with the crust of her pizza, only using her right hand, the left clenching in a fist, resting on the bean bag between Peter and her. Peter feels the movement and offhandedly glances between them, noticing.

“Excuse us Mr. Steve, Mr. Barnes. Be right back!” Peter excuses, tugging Ezra into the kitchen and leaving the two men on the couch, confused.

“That was weird.” Bucky comments. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. She just seems shy.” Steve speculates, arms crossing and leaning into the couch, opposing Bucky’s leaned over stance with his elbows on his knees. 

“Hold on,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s and his trash and heading to the kitchen before Steve can stop him from ‘accidentally’ seeing what’s going on.

Two seconds later, Bucky leaves the kitchen followed momentarily by Peter and Ezra, Peter holding a new can of coke. Ezra fixes her hair twice on the way back to the bean bag, using her right hand, the left firmly kept in the pocket of the burnt orange harem pants. Bucky shoots Steve an ‘I’ll tell you later’ look and shrugs as if to say whatever it was was no big deal. Conversation stays casual after that, ice cream is served for dessert, all the adults grinning knowingly at Peter when he makes Ezra’s bowl for her without questions, adding the toppings easily, receiving a bashful thank you from Ezra, though they can’t make out what he says to her after that. 

“Thank you! Someone has taste!” Tony announces as he walks past the bean bag holding Peter and Ezra, on the way back to his seat, ruffling Ezra’s hair. Ezra sends him a confused look, and he holds up his bowl, near identical to hers: Stark Raving Hazelnut topped with caramel and gummy bears. Ezra’s bowl, thanks to Peter, is heavy handed on the gummy bears, but that’s hardly something to complain about. Ezra, after recovering from the initial shock of the hair ruffling, smiles, holding her bowl up in solidarity.

“It takes a sophisticated palate to understand the flavor complexities.” She simpers.

“Exactly, kid.” Tony huffs a laugh. “You’re welcome here any time, it’ll be refreshing to have a reprieve from all these squares.”

\----

It’s midnight when the movie the pair chose after returning to his room for the night, the animated Lorax, finishes. Sitting up from her hunched position suddenly, Ezra groans.

“Damn it.” She sighs. “I forgot I needed my physical therapy stuff.”

“Oh.” Peter thinks for a second. “Wait, we probably have the stuff in the gym.”

“I could just skip a day.” Ezra says, already laying back into the mass of pillows.

“Nobody’s in there right now, we should go. I can show you around!” Peter offers, jumping off the bed. “You don’t want to disappoint Margaret!”

“My physical therapist’s name is Mark.” She deadpans, exaggeratedly groaning and getting back up. 

“I got the M,” He grins.

The gym is surprisingly open, a large room with painted cinder block walls and a concrete floor, open and full of all kinds of gear. Peter leads them past the weights and towards a rack in the back corner, plucking a resistance band off of it. Peter talks, filling up the silence and telling her about last night’s patrol that he hadn’t had the chance to mention yet. Ezra’s on her last rep of an arm stretch, listening to Peter badly sing ‘Let it Grow’, bringing her arms back to her chest from where they were stretched straight out beside her when a door opening echoes throughout the room and makes both teens jump. 

It’s Steve, hair damp from a post workout shower, dressed in sweats and an Under Armor shirt, coming out of the bathroom looking perplexed.

“Hi!” Peter calls casually across the room, ears pink in embarrassment.

“Hi,” Steve responds quizzically. “What are you kids doing here at midnight?”

“Arm yoga.” Peter blurts out.

“Oh?” Steve questions amusedly. 

Peter makes an affirmative noise and Ezra softly scoffs, huffing a giggle. 

“Peter, you don’t need to lie about it.” She smiles, turning to Steve. “I have to do physical therapy every night, doctor’s orders and all.”

Steve looks a little perplexed but drops it, offering the two a pleasant smile and heading to the elevator.

“Oh, alright. Goodnight, you two make sure to go to sleep before the sun’s up.” He waves, stepping into the elevator.

“Yes sir!” Peter answers, turning to Ezra as soon as the doors close and smiling mischievously. “Now we have to stay up until the sun rises.”

“I’m down as long as you give me something for the reflux I got from taking a second ibuprofen at dinner.” She says, walking to the elevator. “That was so embarrassing.”

“I’m not good at making up excuses on the fly!” Peter defends. “Besides, it’s not like we were doing anything particularly nefarious. Also, I don’t know if mixing ibuprofen and antacid would kill you and I don’t feel like testing it.”

“Well we definitely seem sketchy now.” Ezra laughs, flopping onto Peter’s bed and curling into a ball. “I hate this body, I want a new one.”

Peter acknowledges her with a huffy laugh, diving onto the duvet beside her. Ezra’s head shifts to sit on his shoulder and he tries to hide the way his breath hitches. 

“The next update isn’t due until August twentieth.” He jokes. “Version sixteen comes out at midnight.”

“That’s gross, don’t remind me that I’m old.” She mumbles into the worn material of his thin Midtown pullover. 

“If you’re old then I’m ancient.” He says, inching his right arm to sit around Ezra’s hunched shoulders. “What does version sixteen of Ezra want for her birthday?”

“You’re only ten days older than me, you clown.” She responds, using her right hand to jokingly hit his arm. “Just like the last six times you’ve asked, the answer is nothing.”

“And just like the last six times you’ve answered, you will not be receiving nothing.” Peter insists. 

“I despise you.” Ezra smiles.

“Ditto, buddy.” Peter smiles back. “Now let’s finish this season and see who Jessica picks.”


	2. revelations and Tennessee Williams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, hope you're enjoying so far. As always comments are welcome and appreciated! Let me know what you would like to see or what you liked, and enjoy the chapter.

“So have you two had the girls talk?” Natasha asks from behind the piping hot cup of tea she’s nursing.

Part of the team is gathered in the kitchen for their weekly Saturday breakfast, milling about or checking the food cooking on the stove and in the oven. Clint and Natasha are sitting at the breakfast bar, across from Tony who is rolling croissants with Bruce. Steve, Bucky, and Sam are still out running. 

“No, Nat. If he hasn’t gotten it from May already I don’t want to voluntarily put both of us through that.” Tony says, cringing. “Why do you ask?”

“Come on, Tony.” She grins. “Did you even see those two last night?”

“He looks at her like she hung the moon, man.” Clint comments, snorting into his coffee mug.

Tony finishes the last croissant before sticking the pan in the oven and setting the timer. 

“They’re best friends.” He protests.

The elevator opens, revealing Sam, Steve, and Bucky freshly showered. Sam makes a beeline to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup, while Steve and Bucky sit down at the table. 

“Ned’s his best friend too, I would bet money he doesn’t make Ned’s plates and hold his hand when he’s nervous.” Natasha responds, turning towards the three men who just came in. “Back me up, will you?”

“Oh, yeah, Peter is totally head over heels.” Sam says casually, leaning against the counter.

“That’s young love for you, Tony.” Steve comments. 

“It was pretty obvious.” Bruce adds, grinning.

“I only met the girl yesterday.” Tony defends. 

“Haven’t they been friends for years?” She asks, sitting forward on her stool and taking a drink.

“Kid moved around a lot a while back.” He sighs, sipping his own coffee. “She’s in the system.”

The room falls into an awkward silence after that, nobody knowing what to say, or if anything is worth saying. The timer on the oven beeps to interrupt the moment and Tony graciously accepts the distraction, grabbing the tray and transferring the croissants onto a plate. 

“So, anyway, where are Romeo and Juliet?” Sam asks, refilling his mug. “Peter might just keel over dead if he doesn’t eat soon.”

“Doubtful,” Tony comments into the fridge, where he’s getting the butter and jelly. “I heard him dragging the poor girl into the kitchen for a snack at the ungodly hour of four in the morning last night. She was not pleased.”

“I like her, Peter doesn’t seem to attract many reasonable people.” Sam snorts. “She’ll be good to keep him tethered to earth.”

“Easier said than done.” Tony quips back. “Fri, what’s taking the kids so long?”

“They’re still asleep, boss.” FRIDAY answers promptly.

Tony’s face twitches in confusion; Peter never sleeps past ten no matter what. He just has a weird biological clock like that.

Friday takes his lack of response as confusion and throws up a hologram from his watch. It shows Peter and Ezra leaning against the headboard, slumped against each other, still in their clothes from last night. 

“Cute.” Natasha comments. “Would be cuter if they would join us so I could eat.”

“Noted,” Tony says. “Fri, can you wake the teenagers up and tell them breakfast is in five?”

“Yes, boss.”

Everyone small talks while they collaborate to set the table, leaving two spots on one of the long ends of the table free for Peter and Ezra. Tony takes the third spot on that side, assuming Peter will sit in his normal spot beside him. The team takes their normal seats, Bruce and Natasha at the head of the table closest to Tony, Clint and Sam on the other long end, and Steve and Bucky sitting at the other head of the table. 

Peter and Ezra emerge from the elevator yawning and tired looking, not holding hands but still attached at the hip. Peter has on basketball shorts and a Midtown shirt while Ezra is in her unused gym leggings (bless teachers who stop caring during the last week of school), and Peter’s ‘the physics is theoretical, but the fun is real’ t-shirt. Peter sits next to Tony, leaving Ezra the seat at the end of the table, closest to Steve and Bucky. With everyone present, individual conversations start to spring up along with the passing of a bunch of dishes around the table.

Ezra is once again taken by how synchronously these people work together, even in casual moments; how everyone’s individualism creates a symphony that fits like puzzle pieces. It’s such a stark difference from the group settings Ezra usually finds herself in, the clashing noises of foster home breakfasts or crowded school hallways making an overwhelming cacophony of sounds that overload her senses to the point of upset. 

It’s ironic, and kind of cruel, that a born and raised New Yorker loves nothing more than the quiet. Quiet moments are few and far between in the weird life the universe chose for her, but they’re the best moments of any day she can get them. Peter gets that, because even though they seem like oil and water, they both share a love of quiet moments, a time for decompressing. Of course, Ezra needs to decompress because of regular people stress and Peter needs to decompress because he’s a superhero, but that’s small potatoes. 

“Ezra, would you like some hashbrowns?” Steve asks, holding the serving dish, and Ezra glances at her plate quickly.

Peter, caught up in conversation about a suit upgrade with Tony, had put eggs with cheese, strawberries, and a croissant on her plate. 

“Yes, please.” She responds politely, hesitantly reaching out to grip the serving bowl and avoid hitting her left hand on it. That would be embarrassing and a little too painful to hide while sitting a few feet away from a couple spies and some observant superheroes. 

Whenever she eats around Peter, he insists on serving her. It started at a sleepover with Ned freshman year. They were sharing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream on Ned’s bedroom floor while watching Star Wars for the millionth time, and Peter handed the carton to Ezra. She mindlessly took it with her left hand before immediately dropping the carton the few inches to the floor and wincing. 

The cold irritated her hand because of the, then newly diagnosed, pinched nerve in her elbow. Peter promptly got up and found a spoon, bowl, and a kitchen towel to wrap it with, serving Ezra her share of the ice cream and turning back to the movie easily. The whole ‘Ezra has a useless left hand’ thing became a running joke for the friend group, and Peter would dramatically plate food for her, gradually doing it just because as the joke wore off. Ezra never felt like stopping him, it was really endearing and heartwarming to see that Peter cared, and Peter liked the little gesture. He knows how rocky Ezra’s life is, and he will gladly provide a tiny act of stability whenever he can. 

“So, are you excited for summer break?” Steve asks conversationally. “Any fun plans?” 

Steve ignores Bucky’s kick at his foot under the table.

“I don’t really travel, but I can start reading for fun again.” Ezra says, habitually rubbing the athletic tape on her left wrist. She leaves out the fact that there’s usually one false alarm for adoption a summer, the busiest time of year for agencies, one meeting with a family who decides she’s too much trouble for what she’s worth and doesn’t return.

“What do you read?” Bucky inquires, joining the conversation.

“I love plays, I just started Cat On a Hot Tin Roof.” She says.

“Steve loves that stuff, probably reminds him of the golden days when he was a USO tour star.” He jokes, playfully knocking shoulders with Steve.

“That was hardly performing.” Steve says, scratching the back of his neck. 

“He loves theatrics.” Bucky supplies, chuckling. “Dramatic.”

“Do you see shows?” Ezra asks, taking a careful sip of the apple juice Peter poured for her. It’s incredible, although it makes sense that everything Tony Stark has a hand in would be just a little extra. 

“Sometimes. Tony gifted me tickets to The Glass Menagerie last month when he found out it was playing, said it was ‘from my time’.” Steve softly smiles. 

“That’s a good one. ‘People are not so dreadful when you get to know them.’” Ezra smiles politely, quoting the show.

“I suppose they’re not.” Steve agrees. 

“Steve is.” Bucky jokes, huffing a laugh around a mouthful of hashbrown when Steve elbows him indignantly. 

“I don’t think either of you are dreadful. A little scary, but not dreadful.” She blurts out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean, well, I-”

“It’s alright, it’s no problem, Ezra.” Steve says, eyes drawn to the white knuckled hold Ezra has on her fork.

Hesitating, he reaches out slowly, eyes drifting back and forth from her hand to her face. She doesn’t move, staring through the space between Steve’s eyebrows. Steve’s hand wraps around hers, using his thumb to uncurl her fingers.

“No harm done, seriously.” Bucky promises.

Ezra nods absently, taking a tentative sip of her juice and tuning into Peter’s conversation with Tony. Bucky lays a hand on Steve's bicep, giving it a light, comforting squeeze. 

Their end of the table is quiet for a few minutes, until Ezra’s phone buzzes in her pocket.

“I need to take this, be right back.” She tells Peter, tapping on his arm, leaving the room and walking down the hallway to take the call.

Ezra returns a few minutes later, arms crossed, looking serious. She sits down in her seat, mumbles something to Peter that neither Steve nor Bucky can make out. Peter taps Tony on the shoulder to relay the message, and Tony nods, turning to face Ezra. 

“It was nice to meet you, Ezra. You’re welcome here anytime.” He says, tipping his head toward her. 

“You too, Mr. Stark. Thank you for having me.” Ezra says, getting up out of her chair. Peter does the same.

“I’ll walk you out.” He offers, leading to the elevator.

As soon as the elevator dings, Steve turns to Tony expectantly.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks.

“It’s fine. Peter says her social worker moved an appointment and needed her at the office ASAP.” Tony explains. “God, that kid is terrifyingly polite.”

“Skittish, too.” Sam says. 

“That’s why she’s good with Peter.” Natasha adds, grinning. “Opposites attract.”

“Gross, Nat!” Tony flicks a piece of potato across the table amid the laughter of the team.

\----

The balcony on the common floor is a heavily trafficked area during the day, covered just enough with shade to make it a great sunbathing spot, but it’s not so heavily trafficked in the evenings. So, when Steve, sketchbook and pencils in hand, opens the door to the balcony after dinner that night, he’s not expecting to find an upset Peter pacing the balcony. Phone in one hand, other hand running through his hair stressfully, Peter is talking animatedly to whoever is on the other line, having not even noticed Steve. 

“You can’t be serious!” He scoffs, eyebrows pinched together. “Why would you do that?”

His free hand leaves his hair and clenches into a fist by his face. 

“Ezra, don’t do this to yourself. You don’t know for sure.” He listens, running his hand down his face. “No, I don’t know what it’s like. I want what’s best for you.”

Oh.

His face falls, and pulling the phone from his ear, he stares up at the sky before returning the phone to the shell of his ear.

“I, just, please think about it more. Don’t decide tonight.” He pleads. “Okay. Love you, Z. Come over again soon.” 

Peter sighs deeply, sliding his phone into the pocket of his jeans and turning to stare at the skyline.

“Hi, Peter.” Steve greets, making himself known. He joins Peter by the railing, sitting his pencils and notebook on the table beside the sofa. “Is everything alright?”

“Hi, Captain Rogers.” Peter jumps, turning to Steve and frowning. “Not really.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” He asks.

Peter’s lips form a tight line and he shakes his head. 

“That’s fine.” Steve nods. “So, your birthday’s soon. Anything Peter Parker wants for his big sixteen?”

Peter shakes his head again, and Steve lets the silence hang in the night air.

“Ezra’s birthday is ten days after mine.” He states plainly.

“Oh, well we’ll have to celebrate her too.” Steve says, tapping the railing.

“In New York City the system lets kids decide when they turn sixteen if they want to be eligible for adoption or placed in a home to age out of the system.” Peter mumbles. 

“I know.” Steve responds. Peter looks at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Had to know that when I got my license.”

“You have an adoption license?” He asks. 

“Sure do.” Steve says. “I gather Ezra’s deciding what to do?”

“Yeah, she wants to age out, I told her to think about it.” Peter exhales, overwhelmed. “I know it’s not my business but I want her to at least have a chance.”

“Well, if someone’s interested in adopting her she won’t have any legal say in whether or not it happens. She doesn’t really even need to like whoever it is.” Steve explains. “That’s a big risk.”

“She didn’t tell me that.” Peter huffs sadly and crosses his arms. “I just want her to have a family. It’s all she used to want.”

“Family isn’t a legal term.” Steve says. “You’re her family, Peter.”

“I- I guess so.” Peter concedes. “Thanks, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve.” He says, patting Peter’s shoulder. “No problem, kid. You, and Ezra for that matter, are always welcome to come around to our floor if you need anything.”

Peter nods, heading back inside, feeling both a little lighter, and a whole lot heavier.

\----

_“Hey Mr. Sunlight, gonna outshine your bright,”_

Steve’s a sucker for Sunday mornings. He skips his morning run, sleeps in a little late, and allows himself a lazy morning. On this Sunday, he’s up before Bucky, making breakfast and softly humming along to music. 

Bucky takes his time walking down the hallway and into the kitchen, having a perfect view of Steve, content as he flips bacon in a pan. He leans against the entryway and waits for Steve to notice his presence. Steve looks calm, shoulders relaxed under his shirt. Bucky loves Sunday mornings too, their undisturbed domesticity a fantastic change of pace. But, even with the music playing their floor still feels a little empty. Off, like something’s unfinished. 

Nothing really is, of course. Tony would never have that. The floor is beautifully done, specifically decorated to look less modern than the rest of the tower, the two bedrooms and the rest of the apartment full of neutral earthy tones and comfortable furniture. 

The second bedroom has been empty for years, nobody has ever stayed in it. Steve doesn’t even store any art supplies in it. The door may as well be painted in a bunch of question marks, for what it stands for. The room is plain, painted the same light beige as the hallway, twin bed fitted in gray sheets and a gray comforter. A bank slate, left blank for the kid that may or may not ever stay in it, to fill in. 

Adoption and kids is a huge, looming question mark. Steve feels ready, feels like now is as good a time as ever because frankly no time will ever be perfect. It was a total no for Bucky early on in his time in the tower, not even feeling like he could take care of himself, let alone another human. Nowadays, he feels better about the whole thing. He’s settled into life the way it is now, and he’s starting to want that again. They started to talk logistics of the process a while ago, what they could and couldn't handle, and now Steve’s just waiting for the go ahead from Bucky to start the process.

“You think our kid’ll have a hard time waking up for Sunday breakfast?” Bucky asks, crossing his arms and grinning stupidly at Steve’s back.

Steve turns around at the sound of Bucky’s question, smile creeping onto his face as he processes it.

“Most of ‘em don’t like waking up early, so I’d say they’ll take after you.” He answers. 

“Last thing you need is another one of me, Steve.” Bucky jokes. 

Steve laughs breathily, clicking the stove off and turning to lean against the counter, pouring two cups of coffee from the pot.

“I’d be thrilled.” He says earnestly. “Does this mean you’re ready?”

“Sure does, pal.” Bucky responds, taking the steaming mug off the counter.

They have the best breakfast they’ve had in a long time, even if the toast got burned because Steve forgot it existed while he was hugging Bucky.

\----

Steve’s phone rings as soon as the elevator closes behind them on Monday morning, after filing the papers to become eligible to adopt. The caller ID is Tony’s.

“Morning, Tony. Didn’t know you existed before noon.” Steve greets, slipping off his loafers.

“You’re a comedian, Steve.” Tony responds, sounding tired. “I got called over to Tokyo for an impromptu meeting and Pepper will have my head if I decline. I hate to ask, but Peter was supposed to have Ezra over for a couple days while her foster parents are away for business. Could you check on them a few times a day to make sure they’re alive?”

Bucky looks at Steve questioningly while rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, wondering what Tony could need at eleven in the morning on a Monday. 

“Can do, Tony. When will you be back?” Steve asks.

“Thursday night hopefully. Thank you for this.” He says.

“No problem. See you Thursday, good luck.”

“What’d he need?” Bucky asks, letting his hair down from the bun it’s in. 

“Ezra’s staying over while her foster parents are on business, he asked if we could check in a few times a day.” Steve relays, heading towards the sofa, Bucky joining him.

“Oh, that’s easy.” He says.

Steve nods, and Bucky chooses to leave the silence. Sitting down on Steve’s left, he leans against his side and lays his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s arm wraps around Bucky’s shoulders, and the two bask in a contented silence after their pleasantly eventful morning.

The ball is in their court now. All the paperwork is filed on their end, and now it’s a matter of waiting for a placement or an opportunity for them to say yes to. The packet they had to fill out that morning about the kinds of children they could take had been unbelievably taxing, they spent a good hour on that form alone. In the end, they had marked themselves down as game for pretty much anything, but had both decided to go the older kid route, and prioritize kids from the city. It felt like the right choice, neither could put it into words exactly, but they felt called to it.

There are so many unanswered questions, Bucky feels like every time they get a step closer to the end of the process and get a question answered, a million more appear out of thin air. 

How old will they be? What part of the city are they from? Boy? Girl? Neither? 

It doesn’t even matter. God, Bucky can’t wait for the day they bring someone home to fill the empty spaces of the apartment and complete their world. 

He’s never known anyone who went through the system. It’s all so new to him.

No, he realizes. That’s not true; and suddenly he has a thought out of left field. 

“Steve?” he asks, turning his head to look up at him. “Tony said Ezra’s in the foster system?”

“She is, why?” He says, curiously looking at the unreadable gaze Bucky’s using.

“Steve, what if we,” Bucky starts, sitting up straight. “What if we-”

“Peter said her birthday is ten days after his, that she might choose to age out. She might not even want to be adopted.” Steve sighs, leaning his elbows onto his knees and closing his hands together with a sigh.

“We should try.” Bucky says. “We have to try.”

“Are you sure about this, Buck?” Steve asks, loosening his tie and fiddling with it.

“Real sure.” He responds, taking Steve’s hand. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

Steve grasps his hand tightly, staring out the window across from them with a pensive look on his face.

“We could ask our social worker to connect us with her social worker and set up a meeting. That’s probably the best course of action.” He says, tapping one hand on the couch arm and the other on Bucky’s hand.

“I’ll make the call.” Bucky breathes deeply, getting out his phone and finding the social worker’s number in his contacts, pressing the call button and putting it on speaker. “Hi Madeline, it’s James and Steve, we had a quick question about a possible placement?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting real, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals.


	3. teenage awkwardness and super soldier nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby chapter for today but we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programs after finals pass, friends. Enjoy and as always, comment your thoughts!! I <3 hearing from readers.

“Where are you two headed?” Steve asks upon exiting the elevator and seeing Peter and Ezra, shoes on and sunglasses on their heads. They look like they’re heading to a workout, both dressed in athletic clothes and sneakers. 

“Peter won’t let me go to physical therapy alone.” Ezra says, an overdramatic groan following. “He’s being aggressively nice.”

Peter laughs, scrunching up his face at her. 

“Is that so?” Steve grins. “Have fun. Well, as much fun as that can be. What time will you two be back?”

“Six-ish. I’m gonna take her to Delmars and we might eat in the park since it’s nice.” Peter answers, looking at Ezra for confirmation. She nods timidly, tucking a stray curl that fell out of her ponytail behind her ear.

“Alright, you two. Be safe and don’t get me in trouble with Tony.” 

“No promises!” Peter shouts from the elevator.

\----

“I can’t believe you. I literally can’t believe you.” Ezra sighs, picking at the grass.

The appointment went by quickly, Peter sat in the waiting room adjacent to the open space of the physical therapy clinic, trying not to cringe every time he heard something crack from twenty feet away. He met Mark, Ezra’s twenty six year old physical therapist, who has a faint southern accent and a tendency to ramble while he’s working. He’d made conversation with Peter while he was mobilizing Ezra’s neck joints, and he’d complimented Mark’s colorful flower print button up. 

“At least you like a little bit of color in your life.” Mark had said. “Ezra’s always asking for boring black tape every time we try it. You should convince her to have a little fun since we’re gonna try some again this week.”

So that’s how Ezra gave into peer pressure and ended up with bright red and blue kinesio tape on her arm for this week.

“I think you look sick.” Peter said, laughing into his sandwich. 

“At least I can lie and say it’s Captain America inspired.” She smiles tiredly, bumping her head on his shoulder.

“You’re the worst. Spiderman is obviously your favorite.” Peter takes her hand, tapping along the tape.

“I don’t need the colors on my tape to say that.” Ezra responds, laying her free hand on top of Peter’s. “You’ll always be my favorite.”

Peter smiles dopily, and the two turn their heads, locking eyes. Peter leans in hesitantly, and Ezra stays still, closing her eyes.

Her phone vibrates.

She jumps back, awkwardly reaching for it to pick up, barely registering Rena, her social worker’s name.

“Hi?” 

“Hey, Ezra. I called your fosters about this already and they cleared it as long as you say yes, but I have an opportunity for you.” Rena greets, getting right to business.

“Oh.” She looks sheepishly at Peter, who’s desperately trying to pretend he can’t hear the conversation by staring at a tree a few feet away and drumming his fingers. _You don’t know for sure._ “Wh-What kind of opportunity?”

“I got a call from another social worker who says a couple wants to set up a meeting with you this week. Madeline says they seem eager, so I faxed her your file and we tentatively picked Friday at noon if you’re interested.” Rena explains.

Ezra sighs, looking to Peter, who’s already staring at her. His eyes are wide, he nods.

“Just try.” He whispers. “You never know.”

“Rena, I-” Ezra starts to decline, catching Peter’s eye one more time. He looks serious, a frown gracing his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Rena questions, sounding shocked. 

“Okay.”

“I’m proud of you, kid. I’ll pick you up at eleven and we’ll head to my office. I’ll even get you a Pepsi.” She says. “I talked to them on a conference call, yesterday. They’re good people. See you in a few days, and you tell whoever you’re with I say thank you for the help.”

She hangs up before Ezra can respond or protest.

“I’m like, sixty four percent sure I did the right thing.” She admits, tucking her phone away into the thigh pocket on her yoga pants.

“Those are pretty good odds.” Peter says, thumb running over the seam where red tape meets blue. “All you have to do is show up, right?”

She nods, balling up the paper her sandwich was wrapped in. 

“Love you, Z.” Peter breathes.

“Love you too, Peter.” She responds.

“Let’s get back to the tower before Steve sends out a patrol.” He says, checking his watch and getting up, offering a hand to Ezra.

“Let’s.”

\----

Tony’s floor is strangely quiet when Bucky and Steve step out of the elevator later that night. Bucky searches the room, seeing the TV paused on a frame of The Sound of Music. On the sofa, he sees the top of two heads, one curly bun and the other a wavy tousled mop characteristic of Peter on a day he doesn’t have school. Bucky chuckles when he rounds the corner of the sofa, Steve in tow to find that both kids are out cold, tangled in blankets, a half finished bowl of gummy worms nestled between Peter’s forearm and Ezra’s knee. 

Steve reaches for it carefully to set it on the coffee table, pausing when Peter moves. He doesn’t wake up, only shifts and ends up slumped over Ezra, his head resting on hers and his arm moving to hold her left one unconsciously. Steve and Bucky share an amused look at the brightly colored tape on Ezra’s wrist, idea pretty much guaranteed to have come from Peter.

“FRIDAY, send Stark a picture.” Bucky instructs quietly. “Too cute.”

Steve quietly follows Bucky back into the elevator, staring at the shiny doors while they ride silently back to their floor. Ezra seems so happy with Peter. What happens if Friday goes south? Is their friendship ruined? Too awkward to continue? It’d be their fault.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s going on in your head?” Bucky calls him out, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Steve frowns, shaking his head. 

“Seriously, Steve. What is it?” He pries.

“What if Friday goes badly?” 

Bucky hadn’t even thought of that. Stumped, he sighs, searching for an answer. 

“I don’t know, Steve.” He admits. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

\----

“Do you think the t-shirt with jeans makes me look like I don’t care?”

“I think it says you like wearing jeans and t-shirts.”

“Peter I am literally freaking out right now.” Ezra laughs. “Seriously.”

Ezra video called Peter a few minutes ago while he was making himself breakfast, stumped on what to wear to the meeting with the people she didn’t know anything about. 

“Okay, okay. Fine.” He grins into the camera, laughing at her displeased expression on the screen. “I like the black overalls.”

“With the blue shirt? Maybe I can use my scrunchie?”

“Good idea.” Peter says, setting the phone against the wall to stir the scrambled eggs.

Tony walks in then, tablet in hand, crossing into the frame on his way to the coffee pot.

“Hey Freud, good morning Pete, you two planning NYFW looks?” He jokes, setting down his mug and pressing the start button on the coffee maker.

“Something like that.” Ezra answers, eyes flicking out of frame to her alarm clock and going wide. “Oh, I have to go, Rena’s gonna be here in five!”

“Good luck!” Peter and Tony call in tandem. 

“She okay?” Tony asks, accepting the plate of scrambled eggs Peter offers.

“She’s nervous.” Peter says, fiddling with his fork. “She told me the other day if this one doesn’t work out she’s taking it as a sign to choose to age out.”

Tony smiles sadly. Poor kid.

“Let’s hope it works out, then.”

“Yeah.” Peter sighs. "Yeah, let's."


	4. a brief history of Ezra and Peter, a brief moment of doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very glad this chapter came together. I fought myself tooth and nail trying to figure out what to do with it. Enjoy some throwbacks before our very very important chapter 5. As always, comment and let me know your thoughts or ideas or anything like that!!! Hopefully chapter 5 will come before Christmas but if I don't post before then happy holidays and best wishes to you all. 
> 
> P.S., this quote by Tennessee Williams inspired this whole story. I love his work (you'll notice I gave Ezra the same affinity for his stuff, and it's mentioned a few times). Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is my favorite.
> 
> “No!—It was too rare to be normal, any true thing between two people is too rare to be normal.”- Cat On a Hot Tin Roof, Tennessee Williams

May Parker should have known today was not going to be easy. It probably never would be.

At ten years old, Peter Parker was usually exceedingly well behaved. Usually. 

May didn’t acknowledge the day’s significance, deciding that it would be best to not start the day off on that note first thing in the morning.

She should have known that Peter was too smart for that. So, it really came as no surprise when Peter refused to touch his oatmeal, and, when pressed for a reason why, burst into tears at the breakfast table. 

After all, it was only the four year anniversary of Richard and Mary Parker’s passing.

It took her giving him a brownie for his lunch, letting him wear his ironman shirt _and_ socks _and_ sweatshirt, and promising to take him to lunch at the café by Stark Tower for the next three Saturdays, for him to calm down enough to get in the car so he could go to school. He would have taken the bus, but he was late. 

Fifteen minutes later May dropped off a teary eyed Peter at school, having to walk him all the way up to his teacher’s door to keep him calm. 

Apparently the class had been assigned new seats, so at his teacher’s instruction he takes his seat in the back of the classroom beside a girl with an unruly ponytail and scuffed bright blue Converse, whose name he doesn’t know. The teacher starts a lesson about division, which Peter had known how to do since he was seven, so he blocks out her annoying voice and fills in the worksheet in front of him, doodling a sloppy arc reactor in the top left corner of his page and dreaming of seeing Iron Man fly by while eating fancy food and drinking tea. 

Suddenly, an eraserless end of a pencil is stuck over the doodle he’d just finished, tapping lightly. He follows the hand attached to the pencil up to see the girl looking curiously at him.

“Excuse me?” She asks quietly, tucking some flyaways behind her ear. “Are you sad?”

Peter frowns, crossing his arms over himself protectively. The girl falters, pulling away to set her pencil over her own filled out worksheet.

“I’m sorry.” She says guiltily. “Um, my name’s Ezra. I like your shirt.”

“I’m Peter. Thank you.” He responds, toying with the hem of the gray shirt with Iron Man’s face plate printed on it. “I’m not sad. I, I kinda was this morning but not now. I’m fine.”

“I wanted to know cause your eyes are red.” Ezra tells him. “Rena says being sad is okay. And if you’re sad you should talk about it if you want to.”

Peter doesn’t have time to say anything back. The teacher interrupts them first.

“Peter, Ezra, no talking when I’m talking please. Alright class, time to transition to social studies. This week we’re making presentations about what we want to be when we’re grown up!”

\----

Peter can hear the footsteps through the apartment door that he’s been waiting behind for twenty minutes. When a tentative knock sounds from behind it, he pops up and rips open the door just as May makes it into the hallway, having been in the kitchen. 

“Hi!” He exclaims excitedly, rocking back and forth on his heels.

In the hallway, Ezra clutches hands with a red haired woman, looking nervously at Peter and the pretty woman standing behind him. The woman steps up to stand beside Peter and Ezra has to let go of Rena’s hand so the two women can greet each other with a handshake. 

“Hi Ezra, I’m Peter’s Aunt May. It’s nice to meet you.” The woman says, stepping back from the door to invite the pair in.

All Ezra can muster is a nod, and a barely there smile. She’s clutching Rena’s hand as tightly as she can, scared to let go. This is a big deal: her first ever playdate. 

Peter’s too excited to stand still for any longer, so he rushes past his aunt and takes Ezra’s other hand, smiling widely as he pulls her through the door frame. 

“Do you wanna build Legos? I have a bin of rainbow ones! Or we could build a set! I got a new set on easter.” He proposes, grinning widely at the two adults and his new friend in turn. 

“I like Legos.” Ezra responds, tentatively dropping Rena’s hand and following Peter into the living room where she can see the massive red bin of all kinds of Lego parts. 

“I think they’ll be good friends.” Rena snorts, watching the two dig into the bin at an equally voracious speed. 

“Looks like it.” May agrees. 

_God knows Ezra needs one of those._ Rena thinks.

\----

Rena’s Subaru smells like donuts from the trip they took through the Dunkin Doughnuts drive through on the way to Queens. It’s nauseating to Ezra, who’s saving the box of doughnut holes to share with Peter. More like give to him, because she feels a little too sick to her stomach to eat at the moment; and if the past is any indication she won’t feel like eating until tomorrow. Every little thing is irritating Ezra at the moment: the whoosh of the air conditioning cooling the humid June air, the way the little rays of sun catch the hood of the car and shine in her eyes, the twinges of shooting pain going down her left arm. 

“I’m so sorry.” Rena finally says, eyes still trained on the road.

“It’s whatever.” Ezra mumbles. “I don’t care.”

“Look, you’re old enough that I’m not going to bullshit you. I don’t think that’s true.” Rena spares a glance to the side, raising her eyebrows.

So maybe Rena’s right, but in the moment Ezra is just _so_ fed up she doesn’t even process that thought. 

“Don’t tell me how I feel! I’m fourteen, not six.” She huffs, eyes clouding with frustrated, upset tears. In the next second, she deflates into her seat, defeated. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired of this.”

“I know, honey. This sucks.”

The rest of the ride to Queens is silent and tense. Neither of them know what to say. Days like these do really suck. That’s the best way to put it. So, when Peter texted Ezra that it had been too long since their last sleepover, Ezra, and Rena too, jumped on the chance to have a distraction. 

Ten minutes later Rena puts the car in park on the side street in front of Peter’s apartment.

“Have a good time, honey. Call me whenever, okay?” Rena says, passing Ezra the iced tea she bought to share with Peter after she slots her book bag over her shoulder. 

“Okay.” She doesn’t say anything else as she opens the door of the car, and Rena doesn’t push her to elaborate, driving away once she sees Ezra get into the building.

Ezra’s not staring at the eggshell colored door of the Parker apartment for more than two seconds before Peter opens the door, dressed in a hoodie and sweats with his Midtown crewneck in hand. Ezra drops her bag and haphazardly sets the food in her hands on the floor, throwing herself into his arms and burying her face into the soft material over his shoulder. The door drifts closed behind her when Peter lets go of it to wrap her tightly in his arms, cognizant of his newly gained strength.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. Are you okay?” Peter rambles, leaning his head to the side to rest on top of hers. He feels the shake of her head, and the way her breath catches in her chest against his. “I’m sorry.”

It’s a few minutes before the two separate, Peter hugging her close while Ezra clutches his sweatshirt and tries to stop the tears spilling out. She pulls back when the lump in her throat becomes manageable, wiping her red eyes and pointing to the floor.

“I brought food.” She tries to smile. Peter smiles in return, playing with the collar of the sweatshirt in his left hand.

“May’s stopping at Jack’s on the way back too. She wanted to see if the fries are actually as good as we said.” He says, reaching out a hand, which Ezra takes, letting him lead the way down the hall to his bedroom. 

He hands her the crewneck, pulling the covers on his bed back and grabbing his laptop (that he’d just recently refurbished) while she slides on the sweatshirt. The laptop boots up, and she can see that Peter had rented the original Cat on a Hot Tin Roof movie. Peter didn’t really go for stuff like that normally, but he would watch paint dry if it made Ezra feel better. 

Unceremoniously, Peter flops onto the twin bed and scoots toward the wall, opening his arms for Ezra, who climbs in beside him and accepts the one armed hug. With his other arm, he hits play on the movie and settles the two back into the pillow pile he’d set up.

Ezra only manages to stay up for the first half of the movie, periodically shaking herself awake. Peter decides to say something after a while, shifting to hold her right hand in his.

“You can go to sleep, Z. Goodnight.” He tells her, squeezing her hand.

“Night, Peter.” She says, too sleepy to protest. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He whispers back, pausing the movie.

When May returns to the apartment an hour later, she finds the two asleep sitting up on Peter’s bed, his open laptop precariously set on the covers. She sets it on his desk and sticks the box of fries in the fridge for breakfast tomorrow.

\----

“Come back to sleep, Buck. It’s two in the morning.” Steve begs, leant against the concrete wall of the gym.

“Steve, I can’t do this.” Bucky says dejectedly, staring down at his taped hand and the metal one beside it.

Steve pushes off the wall, sighing while he approaches Bucky, who still stands beside the punching bags. He takes Bucky’s flesh hand in his, picking at the tape’s ends to take it off.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, peeling the tape off, fingertips ghosting along Bucky, his person’s, skin. 

“I can’t, Steve. I can’t drag someone into this.” He gestures to himself in general with his left arm. “Ezra, she’s, I can’t do that to her.”

“Bucky.” Steve admonishes softly, dropping the man’s hand and holding the sides of his face. “You are not what has happened to you. You are not dangerous. Shuri removed every trace of what happened to you, and even if she hadn’t you know I would trust you with my life.”

Bucky exhales heavily, crossing his arms over his chest and casting his eyes toward the floor.

“Ezra doesn’t know me like you do, Steve. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

“Yes she does, Buck. She’s met you. Honestly, she’s heard the media drag us both through the mud and say anything and everything about us and she still met us and talked to us like we’re people.” Steve mirrors Bucky, crossing his arms over his chest in the late night cold of the gym. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions. We’re going to have to trust her, like she’s going to have to trust us. We can do this.”

“Now come back to bed so you won’t fall asleep during the meeting tomorrow.” Steve says, reaching out a hand for Bucky to take.

“Okay,” Bucky grips his hand back tightly. “I trust you, Steve.”

“Right back at you. I love you, Bucky.”

“Right back at you, Steve.”


	5. a Freudian slip and a fire escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter, and I hope you do too. It's a big one, both because it's a lot of words and also because it's important, haha. I'm thinking of doing chapter challenge questions for some fun, so let's start with this one: what play did Tony gift Steve tickets to?
> 
> As always, I love interacting with readers so let me know in the comments what you thought and what you want to see! 
> 
> <3, July

“Here’s your sacrilegious beverage.” The petite social worker with fiery red hair says, pulling the can out of the mini-fridge, setting it on a coaster, and flopping into her desk chair in one swift motion.

“Pepsi is objectively better than Coke.” Ezra defends, opening the can.

“I’m ignoring that.” Rena sighs dramatically, pulling out a manilla folder from under some papers on her desk and sliding it toward Ezra. “Anyways, here’s the couple’s information.”

Ezra slides it right back.

“Not this time.” She shakes her head.

“Why not?” Rena asks, tucking away the folder regardless.

“Last time’s the charm?” Ezra shrugs, nervously tapping the pads of her fingers against the can of Pepsi. “I looked at the file every time before this.”

There’s a heavy moment of silence where Rena almost pries further before deciding it’s useless. Ezra’s headstrong when she wants to be. 

The buzz of the intercom breaks the silence, the voice on the other end alerting Rena of her visitors’ arrival.

“I’ll be right back.” Rena kindly tells her, inclining her head before slipping out the door of her office, leaving it open just a crack.

Now she’s alone. It’s cold in Rena’s office. The woman is always hot, in all the years she’s visited this office, it’s never been above seventy in here. Ezra’s glad she decided to wear long pants, she would have been shaking like a leaf without them. The Pepsi, which was good just a second ago, now looks nauseating when she catches a glimpse of it while nervously scanning. It gets carefully placed in the trash can.

She’s done this a bunch of times. Why is she so spazzed out about this one?

Because it’s the last one.

If this doesn’t work, there’s no other explanation than the universe telling her it’s time to throw in the towel. The timing is too perfect.

When the door opens Ezra’s heart rate spikes, even though she knows it’s just Rena. She always checks one more time before letting prospective couples into the office. Ezra loves that about her. Rena’s head pokes through the crack, brows raised in a silent question. Ezra takes a massive breath and gives a tight nod, watching the door swing open.

Two men, broad chests, one pair of khakis, one pair of black jeans. Two pairs of loafers. Two button ups, one blue, one gray. Their faces-

It’s Steve. It’s Bucky. What are they doing here? 

Did something happen to Peter? To the tower? No, she would’ve gotten a text. May would have called.

She’s frozen in her spot by the back window.

“This is Steve and James, Ezra. They’re the couple you’ll be meeting with this afternoon.” Rena says, prompting her to do something by motioning to the two men who are standing inside the doorway, hands in their pockets.

“Hi?”

“Hi, Ezra. It’s nice to see you.” Steve responds, softly grinning, hoping to comfort her. He knows that he and Bucky have a lot to explain.

“You too.” She musters, looking toward Rena for support. 

“Let’s take a seat and chat some.” She suggests, taking her place being the organized chaos of her desk. Ezra takes the smaller seat on the end, leaving the faux leather armchairs to the two men. “First things first, Madeline tells me you’ve met before?”

Steve nods, glancing at Bucky, deciding to field this one. 

“Our friend was just officially given custody of Ezra’s friend Peter, we met at their celebratory dinner.” He explains. “We’ve seen each other a few times since then, our friend lives in the same building, so we see a lot of each other, and Ezra’s been with Peter often since school let out.”

“Awesome, awesome.” Rena jots it down in her case notes. “I think it’s worth acknowledging that I’m not going to pretend not to know who both of you are. However, I also don’t think it’s ethical or fair to hold that against you.”

The two men give near identical tight lipped smiles. 

“It’s appreciated ma’am.” Steve says. 

“Ma’am.” Rena snorts picking up a bright pink post-it note with scrawled questions. “You can just call me Rena, I’m not one for formalities. So, for our first meeting I usually ask some questions to the potential parents first then open the floor to questions from both sides. To start, can you describe your family?”

“Steve and I have been together officially for about four years.” Bucky says, discreetly taking Steve’s hand between the arms of their chairs. “Our biological families aren’t around, but we have an army of friends who are pretty much family.”

_They did seem close, like family. What would it be like to have that?_

“We’ve been thinking about opening up our home for a few years now, but recently it feels like things fell into place.” Steve adds.

Ezra doesn’t add her two cents in on any questions, letting Rena take the lead on the conversation. Do you have pets? No, but Bucky’s a cat person and Steve doesn’t have a preference. What’s your favorite holiday? Christmas. What do you do in your free time? They’re both big readers, Steve likes to see shows. What are weekend mornings like in your house? Lazy. What’s a typical Saturday night like? Takeout, a movie, sometimes Steve plays their piano.

“Ezra plays piano too.” Rena says, dragging Ezra out of her passive listening.

“You do?” Steve asks, grinning.

“On good days, when it doesn’t bother my hand.” She admits shyly, running her thumb across the seam of the athletic tape, still blue and red.

“That’s great,” Bucky compliments, smiling conservatively. “Maybe you and Steve might like to play something together.”

“Maybe.” She agrees quietly, nodding.

“That’s actually a good segue into my next question.” Rena interjects. “Speaking of her hand, she’s currently going to weekly physical therapy sessions, usually Thursday or Friday. The state currently covers the cost and will continue to do so until she’s legally adopted, but I need to know you’re willing to get her to those appointments and handle the cost of supplies the state doesn’t cover.”

This question sucks. There have been times couples outright refused, asked invasive questions, but the worst is when they share a silent look they think neither Rena or Ezra can see, eyebrows furrowed, one or both of them minutely shaking their head.

Steve and Bucky don’t do that. They don’t even look at each other. They both just nod. Immediately.

“Not a problem.” Bucky insists. “Whatever she needs, we can get.”

 _Not a problem._

“Amazing. Do you two have any questions for Ezra before I take her outside so we can have a quick chat before concluding the meeting?” Rena asks, sticking the post-it inside the folder and shutting it, standing up at her desk.

“Just one, do you have a favorite color?” Steve asks, a hint of bashfulness peeking through his cool façade.

“I like blue.” Ezra answers, holding up her right wrist to show the blue scrunchie and shirt.

“Thought so.” Steve laughs.

“Alright, Ezra and I will be right back.” Rena says, leading the two out of the office, closing the door, and making their way down the hall to the bay window that overlooks the street. Ezra sits, Rena stays standing.

“What did you think?”

“They’re nice.” Ezra responds, staring at the cars driving past on the street below. 

“That’s all well and good, but what do you think about the possibility of a future with them?” Rena asks.

Are they for real? This is insane. Last week she was this close to signing away this chance because she didn’t feel like leaving the door open for potential families anymore. Now this is happening. They’re saying all the right things, being unbelievably nice, pretty much offering her the world on a silver platter. It all seems too good to be true. It’s too perfect.

The opportunity is so close she can taste it. Is it worth taking one last risk? 

What would Peter say? What would Ned say? MJ?

Peter would just tell her there’s no harm in trying. Worst case scenario you’re back to square one and decide to age out of the system like you were already going to. Ned would probably squeal about superheroes, tell her there’s no way she could say no. MJ would tell her she should obviously do it and stop being stupid. She’d say ‘fuck it’.

Fuck it.

“I could see one.”

Maybe she’s sleep deprived, maybe it's the fact that she was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning, or maybe it’s the adrenaline clouding her judgement. But fuck it.

_I deserve one more shot._

“Is that a yes?” Rena asks, excitedly holding onto Ezra’s shoulder. Rena sends a quick thank you to the universe for whatever made this girl go from hopeless to hopeful in a week, holds in her smile, and nods, leading the two back to her office.

She knocks once before opening the door, waiting until both she and Ezra are seated again to start. Steve and Bucky look nervous, and Ezra finds that it’s a weird look on them. Steve’s foot is tapping, Bucky’s right hand is tapping on his knee and he keeps wiping his palms on his jeans.

“So after this meeting is over, I’ll file the papers for you to gain custody. You’ll probably have the hearing in a week, and you can petition to give her your last name then, if you wish to do that. It would be a longer wait but your case is pretty straightforward. After that you’ll have full custody provided the home study in six months goes well.” Rena says casually.

“I’m sorry, what?” Bucky asks, squinting. “Do you mean-”

He looks from Rena to Ezra, to Steve, whose eyes are wide, back to Ezra. She nods, chewing on the inside of her lip.

“We’re really, it’s, we’re honored, Ezra.” Steve stutters, squeezing Bucky’s hand tight, not daring to look away from Ezra’s face. She’s sporting a wobbly smile and blinking away at her suddenly wet eyes, twisting the scrunchie on her wrist.

“Could we maybe get a hug?” He asks hopefully.

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” Ezra rushes out, shooting up from her chair and getting pulled into a bear hug by both of the men at once. 

Their chests rumble with joyful laughter when they hug her, encasing her in a bubble of happiness and warmth. It feels like the world is reduced to this moment, this room, this square of carpet. She’s squished between the two of them, breathlessly laughing along.

Bucky pulls back first, just to look at her face. Her watery smile, the twinkling hope in her teary eyes. He untangles his right arm from around Steve to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, holding her cheek and wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. 

“You’re alright,” He comforts, continuing to swipe away at the tears that manage to escape Ezra’s eyes. “It’s okay.”

“Thank you.” She croaks, choked up by crying, nodding her head.

“No, thank you, sweetheart.” Steve says, patting her curls and grinning. “You ready for some paperwork?”

“A necessary evil.” Ezra mutters.

Steve and Bucky both laugh, and they all sit back down for the paperwork, which Rena had pulled together while they were celebrating.

Things are read as fast as possible and signed even faster, the excitement of the moment really setting in.

“Do you need to put your middle name down?” Steve looks to Ezra, taking the last form from her. 

“I don’t have one.” She explains shyly. “I, uh, was actually wondering if you guys would pick one?”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, twirling the pen in his hands.

“I’m sure.” Ezra nods. “I’ve always wanted whoever adopted me to choose.”

It’s a Freudian slip, because nothing’s really set in stone until the court approves of the custody change, but it doesn’t matter. Ezra’s pretty good at reading situations, just always has been, and this feels good. It feels right. This is right where she belongs.

“We would love to, Ezra.” Steve agrees, reaching out his hand after he signs the page and slides it along the desk to Bucky. She takes it, lightly squeezing his hand back. “I promise I won’t let Buck choose something stupid.”

“What, like Buchanan?” Bucky snorts, handing the paper to Rena.

“Exactly.” Steve smirks. 

\----

“You didn’t text me after your meeting.”

“Jesus, holy, what the hell!” Ezra gasps, whipping around to face the window, where Peter is perched on the fire escape in the Spiderman suit. “Peter!”

“Yes?” She can hear his smirk. “You’re not allowed to be mad. I brought fries.”

“You win this time.” She concedes, climbing onto the fire escape beside him and closing the window behind her. He slips off his mask.

The pair lean against the window, open box of fries set between them. It’s silent for a minute, Ezra and Peter just looking into the bright expanse of New York City and snacking on lukewarm fries.

“It was good, but I can’t hang out at the tower this week.” She says after thinking about it. “My hearing is next Friday.”

“Why? The only reason you couldn’t come is if your adoptive parents live at the tower because you can’t see them outside of meet-” He hypothesizes, before his eyes light up in realization. “Oh shit! Wait,”

“You’ll never guess who I was meeting with today.” She says dramatically, dragging out the moment.

“Who? Ezra, what the hell?” 

“You might know them.” Ezra laughs, enjoying the moment too much to let it go.

“Steve told me the other day he had a license.” Peter realizes. Ezra nods, barely holding in a massive smile. Shoving the box out of the way and lunging for Ezra, he wraps her in a bone crushing hug. “Oh my god, no way! This is insane.”

Their joyful laughter echoes off the brick alleyway in the quiet of the night while they embrace each other, two happy souls on a rickety fire escape sharing in the best moment of one of their lives up to this point. 

Peter pulls back when their laughter fades, just far enough to see her face in the glow of the city lights that keep the alley illuminated at all hours. 

“I’m so excited.” He says, grinning ear to ear. 

“Me too.” She whispers, staring into his eyes.

Peter’s eyes are his tell. No matter what, if he was lying, you could always tell by the way his eyes looked. Tonight, they’re open, honest, inquisitive, taking in the picture before him, the prettiest thing he’s seen in a long, long, time.

He leans in on instinct. Ezra freezes where she is.

The kiss is simple, soft and innocent. They pull away just a little and sit in the moment with each other, energy vibrating between them. 

Peter hugs her close against his chest, and they sit embracing in the quiet for a long time, Ezra’s head tucked under Peter’s chin, his arms tightly wound around her. 

It’s a long time before Peter’s suit beeps with an incoming call.

“Incoming high priority call from Boss, Peter.” The AI says, breaking the two lovestruck teenagers out of their peaceful trance. 

“Put him through,” Peter immediately mumbles, clearly not pleased. Ezra tries to sit back away from the hug but Peter keeps his left arm tightly around her, holding his mask, and the speaker in it up to his face with his right.

“Pete, where are you? It’s almost an hour past midnight and you’ve been sitting on the side of an apartment building for forty five minutes.” Tony questions unhappily.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” Peter says, flustered. “I- I’m with Ezra.”

“Oh?” Tony’s tone immediately changes, remembering the conversation from breakfast. “Am I on speaker?”

“Yeah, we’re on the fire escape.” He responds, tapping his left hand’s fingers on Ezra’s shoulder blades.

“Hey, Freud. How’s things?” Tony asks tentatively, setting down the blowtorch in his hand, trying to feel out the girl’s mood over the phone without asking outright how the meeting went.

“Things are pretty good.” She answers plainly. “Sorry I kept Peter out too late.”

“I should be thanking you for the vacation.” Tony laughs. “Pretty good is a pretty vague description, kiddo. Are we talking ‘the bodega gave you more bacon in your sandwich than usual’ or ‘winning the lottery’ pretty good?” 

“The second one.” Ezra hesitates before adding. “But those are pretty much the same thing.”

“I guess you’re right. So, what color walls are you thinking for your room? I know Steve’s least favorite is orange.” He asks. 

“Wait, how did you know?” She asks, confused at the sudden admission.

“Peter said you had a meeting with the social worker today and the boys wouldn’t stop being nervous nellies about their own meeting today at the exact same time.” He explains. “Lucky guess, I didn’t think you would appreciate me hacking into your social workers online calendar to find out if I was right.”

“Oh. Thanks?” Ezra responds, ignoring Peter’s barely covered up snort of laughter. 

“Anytime. But seriously, welcome to the family kid.” Tony says earnestly. 

The family. Family. Her breathing hitches with the thought, and Peter starts to draw circles on her back.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” She says.

“Oh no, that’s Uncle Tony to you now.” He jokes. “Are you staying over there tonight, Pete?”

“Yeah.” Peter says immediately, staring down at the exhausted pretty girl curled up against him. “Yeah, I am.”

“Alright, goodnight you crazy kids.”

In their tiredness, they both end up only making it through the window onto the bay window, and they crash without a blanket, curled up and sharing the big blue decorative pillow and the little seat cushion.


	6. the big day + blue & Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ALL!!!! I'm still here. Just some writers block that kept me from getting this chapter done how I wanted it to be done. Witnessing major historical events will do that to you, I suppose. 
> 
> To any Americans reading this, times are scary. But I keep thinking of this quote Senator-elect Raphael Warnock (go Georgia!) said: "And the thing about dawn, it's dark. But you're on the precipice of morning." This is dawn, but morning will always follow. 
> 
> Anyway back to escapism, please comment and let me know what you think and what you would like to see!!!! Enjoy <3

On Thursday morning there’s a buzzing nervous energy in the Barnes-Rogers household. Steve unrolls and rerolls his sleeves for the third time since he put on the plaid button up, and Bucky taps his foot discreetly against the breakfast bar. There’s two nearly empty coffee cups on the counter alongside a bouquet of flowers Steve had gone to the florist around the corner to get while Bucky made breakfast. 

“Why’d you get that kind?” Bucky asks, finishing off the coffee and getting up to put the mug in the sink.

“They’re blue violets.” Steve answers, putting his mug beside Bucky’s. “Florist said they represented loyalty and devotion.”

“She’s going to love them, Steve.” He assures, bumping shoulders with Steve. “Tomorrow’s coming fast.”

“I know, I just,” He sighs. “I can’t help but be nervous.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s face, holding it delicately between his hands and making eye contact with Steve’s worried gaze.

“She already said yes.” He reassures, leaning into Steve as his arms wrap around him. “Twenty six hours and we’ll be home with her. With our daughter.” 

Their daughter. Steve loves the way that sounds.

“Now come on, you promised me you’d show me the new piece you’ve been working on.” Bucky smiles, breaking away and heading for the hallway to Steve’s studio. 

\----

“You keep calling me for outfit advice as if I have any style at all, Z.” Peter says into the video call while simultaneously working with circuit board wires. 

“You’re my only friend with wifi, Ned wouldn’t care, and we both know MJ would just tell me I was bowing to the whim of the patriarchy by caring what I look like.” Ezra grins, and Peter laughs.

“I say the blue dress with the black boots so you can match, Mr. Barnes wears black a lot and Cap owns like four blue dress shirts. That’s probably what they’re wearing.” Peter says, setting the circuit board aside. Ezra picks them up off the bed and leaves the frame, presumably to change. “Also, ‘friend’? Ouch.”

Ezra scoffs jokingly before returning to the frame and sitting down on the bed.

“I don’t recall you asking to be let out of the friendzone, Peter Parker.” She smiles, slipping on her tried and true black ankle boots.

“I assumed there was an unspoken agreement, but fine.” Peter sighs animatedly. “Will you be my girlfriend, Ezra no middle name soon to be Barnes-Rogers?”

“Yeah, I guess so, Peter Benjamin pain in my ass Parker.” 

“Oh, that has a good flow to it.” The door to the lab swings open and Tony waltzes in, StarkPad in hand. 

Peter’s face goes fire truck red and Ezra’s comes close to that.

“Hi Mr. Stark!” She manages to get out. 

“Hey Freud. Don’t you have a hearing to be at right now?” He waves when he crosses behind Peter.

“I leave in,” She pauses to look at her alarm clock on the bedside table. “Right now.”

“Good luck, kid. I’ll have Stark Raving Hazelnut ready for dessert tonight.” Tony promises.

“Sounds awesome.” She smiles, and Peter discreetly screenshots it quickly, planning to make it his lock screen as soon as they hang up. “Bye Mr. Stark! Bye Peter, love you!”

She hangs up before he can respond.

Peter grins dopily at the end call screen.

“Love huh?” Tony asks, sliding the StarkPad towards Peter, the new StarkPhone update open on it.

“She’s been saying she loves me since we were kids.” Peter explains bashfully. “‘s just different now.”

“Now that you have a _girlfriend_.” Tony jests, grinning.

“This is literally the most embarrassing moment of my life.” Peter groans.

“Are you sure about that, because last week Karen told me you hit yourself in the face with a bag of money while you were stopping that bank robbery-”

“Oh my _god_.”

\----

Ezra has never been inside a hotel room. She doesn’t really get how it’s any different from a home. Well, maybe it’s because she’s never had one of those either. To her, a home is a home, a hotel room is a hotel room. They’re the same thing: four walls, a place to put your stuff. She’s lived in houses, but never homes. A home feels like more, like a soft place to land after a hard day, a comfort. A home is more than walls, it means a family, a deep and instinctual relaxation when you know you’re completely safe. 

Ezra’s home has always been people. Peter, Ned, and MJ have been her home base since freshman year at Midtown. She can put down her walls around them because together, they make up the four walls of a home. She always thought that was all she would ever need.

The courthouse is busy, lots of men and women in suits bustling about, prancing in and out of the massive revolving entrance door with briefcases and files galore. Rena’s small Subaru easily fits into a spot on the side of the street close to the steps leading up the building. Rena and Ezra make their way up the steps in a comfortable silence, and Rena leads them to stand off to the side and wait for the rest of their party to arrive before they head into the judge’s office.

Ezra is jittery, cold despite the late june weather. The blue linen babydoll dress is doing nothing to stave off her shivers in the air conditioned lobby of the courthouse. She plays with the edges of her new kinesio tape Mark put on yesterday, blue and black upon her request. 

At eleven fifty six, Steve and Bucky step onto the marble floor of the lobby, trailing Madeline, who quickly sweeps the crowd and finds Ezra and Rena, who is currently triple checking that she has all her paperwork. 

“Good morning, you two.” She greets the pair, extending a hand for Ezra to shake. “I’m Madeline, Steve and James’ social worker.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ezra.” She returns the gesture, shaking Madeline’s hand quickly.

She turns to Steve and Bucky shyly, waving at the pair. They wave back, grinning widely. 

She looks beautiful. All dolled up, and they all match. Like a family. Bucky’s black shirt and gray slacks and Steve’s white shirt and navy slacks make it look like their ensemble was planned. 

“You look real pretty.” Bucky says, smiling and tucking a flyaway from his ponytail out of his face.

“Thank you,” She blushes nervously. “You too.”

“He is pretty, isn’t he?” Steve snorts, redoing the button on his suit jacket.

“You flirts,” Madeline scoffs and smiles. “Enough of that, we have to be in the judge’s office in two minutes. We faxed him the paperwork last week, so we’re all ready on our side. Let’s do this thing.”

“Let’s.” Steve nods, offering Ezra his elbow. 

She links arms with him, and the group sets off down the wide, grand hallway to the left. It’s a short walk to the big wooden door of the office, a gold plaque reading ‘The Honorable John Cohen’. Rena knocks on the door, and a muffled ‘Come in!’ is heard from behind it.

The office is a variety of shades of beige, with five wooden chairs that have cream colored cushions. Behind the huge mahogany desk sits an older man with a full head of salt and pepper hair and a strong jawline. Judge Cohen is smiling, shuffling a few forms into piles. 

“Afternoon, ladies and gentleman. Are we ready to make a family happen?” He asks, happily setting out a few pens. “Come in, take a seat. I don’t bite.”

He waits for them all to settle in, Steve leading Ezra to the center chair, sitting on her right, Bucky beside her on her left. Rena and Madeline bookend the three.

“Ezra, am I correct?” He asks, and she nods. “So, tell me, who are these guys?”

Ezra looks between the two, who are sporting big, nervous smiles. She crosses her legs to try to stop herself from tapping her feet.

“This is Steve,” She taps his bicep with the arm that’s still hooked with his. She looks at Bucky, smiling softly. “And Bucky. They’re cool.”

Everyone laughs at her admission, Judge Cohen twirling a pen in his hand. 

“That’s great. So I see you go to Midtown, how will you get there from your new house?” He asks, looking to both men after posing the question.

“My friend Peter lives in the same building so we’ll probably ride together?” She says, looking to Steve and Bucky.

“Peter splits his time between our building and his aunt’s, so when he’s not there we plan to drop her off.” Steve answers the judge. 

The judge nods, jotting down notes again. 

“Great, Midtown requires tuition, does it not?” He asks. Ezra nods. He looks toward the men. “Do you two plan to pay for that schooling?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Rena cuts in. “Ezra attends on a full scholarship.”

“Oh, even better.” Judge Cohen grins, passing a form across the table to Bucky. “So, let’s get through some paperwork before I let you all go free. I’ve got the big guy for all of us to sign off on, but Ms. Rena faxed me a name change form too, so what are we thinking for that?”

Steve and Bucky smile at each other and both of their glances find Ezra. She’s looking between the paper and Bucky, waiting for him to start writing.

“Do you want to know before we write it?” He asks her, fiddling with the pen. “Do you want to keep your last name?”

“No, I want you to write it first.” She answers, smiling back pensively, looking between Steve and Bucky. “Can, can I take your last name?”

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat. The pen in Bucky’s hand goes still. 

“Of course you can, Ezra.” Steve breathes out, patting her cold hand that rests on his forearm. “We would love that.”

Bucky pens the name onto the form, signing off and passing it to Steve, and then to Ezra, who keeps her gaze locked on the dotted line where her signature goes. She slides it up the desk to Judge Cohen, who’s quick to sign off, and it’s done.

“Mighty fine name, if I do say so myself.” Bucky comments, grinning at Ezra. 

“I hope so, since I’m stuck with it forever.” She jokes.

Forever. Hopefully.

“I like the sound of that, kid.” Steve smiles a closed lip smile. 

The judge is quick to slide the last paper across the table. The final piece of the puzzle sits right in front of Steve’s hand.

It’s never occurred to Ezra how weird it is that so many important things in life can be traced back to pieces of paper. Flimsy, thin, so easily broken. What a strange juxtaposition: the biggest things in life are the ones that exist on something that can be so easily ripped to shreds. She had always thought that life is so much more than paper, so much more than the names signed on lines that denote who you’re legally tied too. The things that don’t get written down are so vital, their power is in the emotions they produce, not in what legal power they hold. 

But the names on lines mean so much more when you want the people behind them to be in your life. When those names are signed on the dotted line, it means that things begin anew. In the past, this moment, those lines, didn’t matter because she’d never wanted what came with it. Now, that line means everything. Staying in the city, knowing where she’ll live in a year, staying with Peter. Having people to talk to. Having family. 

Steve signs the paper enthusiastically and slides it across the desk to Bucky, who signs with the same amount of vigor. Then, the paper is right in front of Ezra’s face. The dotted line stands out, highlighted in a bright neon yellow. It feels like the pen in her hands moves on its own accord, coming up to the fluorescent bar, stopping before the pen hits the paper, realizing she doesn’t know what to write. She looks to the line above, and printed in Steve’s neat handwriting is her full name. 

Ezra Josephine Barnes-Rogers.

“Oh, that’s really pretty.” She says incredulously. Steve and Bucky laugh happily.

“Well, it’s all yours.” Bucky says. “Although, you do need to sign for it first.”

She sweeps a signature across the page, and it feels perfect.

Everything happens in fast motion after that: the handshakes, the pictures, the final flurry of activity. Suddenly they’re back on the courthouse steps, standing in the warm rays of midday sun, Ezra wearing her backpack and standing beside her drab gray suitcase. She’s holding on to Bucky’s arm now, him beating Steve to the punch and offering his elbow first on the way out through the crowded lobby. Rena and Madeline had waved goodbye a second ago and headed away in matching flurries of rushed paper shuffling, promising to email them the date of their next home study after their last appointments of the day. Now, they’re left to their own devices.

“So,” Bucky starts awkwardly, looking to Steve for guidance. They’d discussed the plan for today over and over, and despite that, he still feels totally lost.

“So,” Steve copies, unable to wipe the wide smile off his face. “Why don’t we head back to the tower and go from there?”

They planned to drop off her stuff in the apartment and show her around first, so she can get acquainted to the space as soon as possible. Bucky, in his nervousness, had meticulously thought out today’s plan and done a crazy amount of research on how to handle the first day after an adoption. Introduce the child to their new environment as soon as possible. Let them set the pace.

Steve’s car, a beautiful, sleek, black sedan, had been a birthday gift from Tony the year before when he put two and two together and realized that Steve drove his motorcycle everywhere because he didn’t have a car, not because he didn’t like them. It’s parked a block away from the courthouse, and Steve leads the way, Bucky following, arm still linked with Ezra’s. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from offering to take the suitcase. _She’s got to feel like she has control of the situation._

Steve presses the button on the key fob to pop the trunk and heads to the drivers side to stand beside the doors, and Bucky figures since she’d chosen to go to the car he can offer to help her now.

“I can put your case in the trunk and get the meter, why don’t you and Steve pick some music for the ride home?” He offers.

“Okay.” She nods, letting go of the handle of the suitcase and grabbing onto her backpack straps instead. 

Steve goes to open the door for her, but she beats him to it and sets her backpack on the floor of the car first before climbing into the backseat. Steve looks to Bucky, who just shrugs noncommittally, so he gets in the driver’s seat and turns on the car once Bucky closes the trunk. Louis Armstrong’s Moon River starts playing immediately when the car’s bluetooth connects to Steve’s phone. He reaches up to turn on the radio instead, Ezra’s voice interrupting him.

“This is a good song.” She comments shyly. “I think I like his version more than Audrey Hepburn’s.”

“You like Louis Armstrong?” Steve smiles, turning in his seat to talk to Ezra. 

“I don’t trust people who don’t like Louis Armstrong. That’s suspicious.” She grins back, fiddling with her sleeve.

Steve laughs at that, genuinely laughs at the wonderful wit emerging from Ezra as they get to know her. 

“Sure is, kid.” He says, watching Bucky through the passenger side window as he finishes paying for their parking. “Maybe after we show you around the apartment when we get back, I’ll play some Louis on the piano after we eat lunch.” 

Steve pulls his eyes away from Ezra in the backseat after she nods, watching Bucky get into the passenger seat and glance at the radio to see what’s playing. His eyes crinkle fondly at the choice, a smile adorning his lips when he glances at Steve, who’s focusing on finding a break in traffic so they can pull out of their spot.

“Here I was thinking I’d come back to the car and have to suffer through twenty minutes of whatever Peter calls music when he picks the workout playlist.” Bucky says, twisting in his seat and turning his gaze to meet Ezra’s. “You sure you picked this out, kid?”

“I’m sure.” She nods shyly, playing with the handle on the top of her backpack. 

“Told me it was better than Audrey Hepburn’s, Buck.” Steve pipes up, merging into the left lane before the next turn. 

“Good to know you have taste.” Bucky grins, hand inching over the console to hold Steve’s.

Ezra chuckles politely, and the car falls into a comfortable silence after that. Steve and Bucky chance subtle glances in the mirror to watch Ezra gaze at the city, eyes darting all over the place. She looks nervous, but then again, they all are. None of them have done this before.

This sort of feels like going to a new foster home. Almost. It’s new, and it’s nerve wracking, but there’s no anxious pit in her stomach today. This time, Ezra isn’t travelling in Rena’s compact powder blue Subaru, it isn’t awkward, she’s not upset. It’s different this time. She feels different. This time there’s an underlying current of hope just below her skin, a happiness that feels like it would glow gold if she could see it. It feels good. This feels good. 

Steve and Bucky’s floor is not what Ezra was expecting. And that’s good. Unlike the rest of the tower she’d been privy to, the floor isn’t decorated in the hyper-modern style full of clean and harsh lines that the rest of it is. The walls are a welcoming tawny beige, and the floors are a pretty hardwood. The entrance hallway is adorned with picture frames that look to have a mix of old and new photos, plus some newspaper clippings and a few drawings. 

Steve and Bucky lead the way down the hall, Steve setting aside Ezra’s luggage down to the left, next to the closed powder room door. He straightens up, allowing Ezra to sweep her eyes over the new space for a moment. Bucky’s hand makes its way into his, squeezing lightly. Their gazes meet for just a split second, long enough to grin minutely at each other in reassurance.

“Welcome home, Ezra.” Steve says happily. 

_Home._

\----

“I resent that!”

Ezra follows the noise down the hallway, passing through the living room and into the kitchen. The noise is coming from the hallway just off the kitchen, where a guest room and a rec room are. The blue flowers on the counter are catching the summer sun coming in through the window beautifully. The door on the left, the rec room, is left open; Steve and Bucky’s voices echoing down the hallway toward her. She can hear them laughing now. 

“You’re definitely a golden retriever.” Bucky says.

“If I’m a golden retriever you’re a cockroach.” Steve fires back jokingly. “Deceptively intimidating and really annoying.”

They’re sitting together on the bench of Steve’s baby grand piano, sheet music books open and abandoned in front of them. Ezra leans against the door frame, about to announce her presence when Bucky turns his head to throw his hair out of his eyes, and notices her standing just outside the room, sort of dazedly and awkwardly staring around the room.

“Hey, kid. Need something?” Bucky asks, studying her face.

She shakes her head, and he notices the developing dark circles below her eyes; the way she’s blinking slower than she did this morning. It hits him all at once, this sudden rush of paternal feelings. Seeing her drowsily leaning against the door frame for support, drowning in a big Midtown shirt and harem pants, on the verge of falling asleep standing up, he realizes just how stupid he was to doubt himself. To doubt this.

She’s here. She’s here, she’s staying, and he is going to do whatever it takes to protect her; to nurture this life he’s building and have the best damn time because he _deserves_ a life he loves. She deserves his best, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to give it. 

“Do you want to come sit?” Steve offers, standing up from the piano bench to offer her a seat between the two men. “I did promise you we would play some Louis after lunch.”

She nods in agreement wordlessly, making her way across the room and sliding onto the big, cushioned, and comfortable piano bench beside Bucky. Steve sits down again, flipping through one of the sheet music books before setting on a page.

“I hope you don’t mind, this one is actually Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald.” Steve grins, settles his hands on the keys, and looks down to Ezra, who smiles shyly back, blinking a few times.

“No, I love her.” She responds as enthusiastically as she can, trying to stay awake.

Despite Peter’s insistence that she be well rested, she’d been awake most of the night before, too nervous to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes and settled into the pillow she thought too much about today to get to sleep. On the plus side, she’d finished reading two plays before she finally conked out. 

Bucky makes eye contact with Steve over her head, sharing a questioning glance. Bucky raises his eyebrows, tilting his head toward Ezra. Steve shrugs, the immovable grin stuck to his face quirking up at the corners to form a smile. They nod at each other, a silent comfort.

She’s okay being drowsy around them. Steve has _no_ earthly idea why that makes his heart want to eject itself out of his chest the way it does. He’s proud. Proud of the little thing they’ve created, the family they planted the seed to today, the way it’s growing into a little plant slowly but steadily. 

Steve’s eyes focus on the sheet music before him, softly hammering out the beginning chords to _Isn’t This a Lovely Day?_.

Bucky watches the way Steve zeroes in on the moment, focusing on the sheet music and stealing glances at Ezra as he plays. At some point, he’d started to sing; his voice soft with a hint of deep gravel in it. She’s growing more tired as he goes, blinks becoming seconds long, shoulders slumping. Around the halfway mark, her head falls onto Bucky’s left shoulder and her eyes slip shut. He doesn’t dare move, frozen in place. Even though the shoulder beneath her cheek is made of vibranium, she’s not bothered. Her face is calm, slack with sleep, and her breathing is deep and level. 

Steve finishes the song slowly, hands flattening over the piano keys as he takes and releases a deep breath. 

They share another content smile over Ezra’s head, and maybe they both have tears in their eyes. Maybe they’ve been trying not to cry all day. Maybe they had a wager for who would cry first, and maybe Bucky lost the second he turned away to pay for parking. 

He doesn’t even care that he has to pay Steve fifty dollars. He would empty his whole bank account for the chance to live this day over and over again.

_The turn in the weather  
Will keep us together  
So I can honestly say  
That as far as I’m concerned, it's a lovely day_


	7. In which FRIDAY is a narc, the men are nervous, and godly business begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY EVERYONE I AM BACK! Hopefully this pretty long chapter makes up for it. Sorry about that long wait, I hit a little writers block regarding a way to bridge this part of the story to the next one, but I watched Thor: Ragnarok last night (hint hint- you'll see), did some planning for future chapters, and I'm back on track. 
> 
> As always, please please comment and let me know what you liked, what you think, and what you want to see! I <3 comments and talking to readers.

The life Ezra had led up to this point didn’t really leave her an option to develop an overactive imagination. She wasn’t the kind of kid to watch Disney movies day in and day out, and she’d never had an imaginary friend. She had stopped believing in Santa by the time she was a kindergartener. She was always a realist.

That had never precluded her from nightmares, though. Worse, her nightmares were never made of tall, growling, fuzzy monsters like other kids. They were real things: people, natural disasters, plane crashes, tragedies. Possibilities. Her mind, even when dreaming, managed to catastrophize within the confines of real life. 

It still does.

She’s falling, half aware that she’s dreaming but fully terrified of the fast approaching New York City sidewalk of Park Avenue, until it dissipates into mist just seconds before she would’ve hit it. Instead of the concrete she’d been expecting, the feeling of soft sheets greets Ezra upon her sudden consciousness. 

“Jesus,” She coughs, sucking in a breath and shooting up to a sitting position. 

Her heart is hammering with unresolved anxiety, and she can feel every beat in her ears. The room, pitch black when she went to sleep, comes into a hazy focus dimly lit by the lamp on her bedside table. She blinks stiffly to clear her sleep-addled vision, the initial panic of her waking dissipating by the second and leaving her with a leftover weight on her chest and a growing realization of the pins and needles and shooting pain emanating from her left arm. 

_Holy shit, ow. Oh my god._

The pain is blinding, totally overtaking her for the moment when a particularly searing shock travels up her arm. An involuntary screech escapes as she doubles over, clutching her left arm in her right hand as tremors of pain keep randomly shooting up her arm. Not being able to predict the stabbing feeling is overwhelming, and through the haze of panic and pain the logical side of Ezra desperately tries to cling onto pain management strategies she’s learned. She’s too busy unsuccessfully forcing deep breaths into her lungs to hear the thud of feet in the hallway or the click and whoosh of her opening door. 

The bed dips to her left, mattress and disheveled covers shifting as the two men climb onto it urgently. They’d been woken up suddenly by FRIDAY’s nightmare protocol, which was originally instituted early on in their time in the apartment as a way to alert Steve or Bucky of the other’s predicament if they were unable to verbalize it. It had FRIDAY look for elevated heart rate and irregular breathing upon sudden waking, and it hadn’t been needed ever since the two began sleeping in the same room; but in the moment the men were both beyond glad they hadn’t bothered telling FRIDAY to get rid of it. 

“Hey, sweetheart, are you, is everything- what’s going on?” Steve flounders from in front of her, going to touch her shoulder before nervously retracting his hand. 

Ezra’s hand clenches around her forearm as another stab shoots up her arm, the skin of her hand and forearm going white with the pressure. She doesn’t bother trying to answer Steve’s nervous barrage of questions, unable to focus enough to think through all of the questions at once. 

In between twinges now, Ezra straightens her back to sit up, tossing her messy hair out of her face, exposing her teary eyes and clenched jaw to Steve and Bucky. Bucky frowns deeply, eyes narrowing as he reaches out his left hand to take Ezra’s clenched left fist in his. 

She winces immediately, retracting her hand from his instinctually, and Bucky’s face falls. Her breath hitches in her throat, realizing what he must think is going on. Her right hand darts to his left, wrapping around it and squeezing tightly.

“It’s just cold, I didn’t- I’m _not_ afraid of you.” She insists. “It just hurt a little, no harm done. Seriously.”

“Thanks, doll.” Bucky nods melancholily. “You’re hurt?”

“I think I slept on my arm weird, I should probably just,” A fiery stab of pain cuts her off, and she winces while tightening her grip on Bucky’s metal hand. “Yeah.”

The two men make eye contact over Ezra’s hunched form; Bucky looks pretty lost and verklempt in the dim lighting, and Steve, ever calm and collected, nods assuredly after hearing Ezra’s confirmation. 

_‘We got this.’_ He mouths. Bucky takes a deep, centering breath before looking back to Ezra, metal thumb running over the back of her hand to comfort her.

“Do you want some pain medicine?” Steve asks quietly, laying his hand on top of Ezra and Bucky’s clasped ones.

“Please.”

“Alright, kid. I’ll be right back. Switch places with me, Buck?” Steve says, leaving the room quickly to grab the ibuprofen. 

“Sure thing, Stevie.” He responds, gingerly letting Ezra’s hand go and shifting around to sit on her right side instead of in front of her, making sure there’s enough space on Ezra’s left for Steve to sit when he comes back.

“What’re you feeling now?” Bucky asks, leaning back into the pillows. Ezra follows, shifting a few times to settle into the groove between the two stacks of pillows at the top of the bed. 

“It’s weird, kind of like little stabs, sometimes it’s like a pulse?” She tries to explain. “I wonder if that’s what a tattoo feels like. I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

“Don’t let Steve hear you say that, he’ll flip his lid.” Bucky grins. “I’m sorry you’re having such a bad night, kid.”

“It’s not your fault I have a defective skeleton.” She deadpans, smiling tiredly and fighting a yawn.

Steve walks through the door just then, pill bottle and a glass of water in one hand, a few saltines on a napkin in the other. He sets everything down on the bedside table before sitting down beside the two, a tentative smile on his face now that Ezra’s able to talk. 

He’d been so terrified a few minutes ago when he and Bucky were booking it into her room with absolutely no idea what was happening. Of course, the nightmare protocol being triggered still wasn’t explained, but that could wait. Right now, getting rid of Ezra’s pain is priority number one. 

The stiff smile Ezra manages when she sees the little stack of saltines and the water lets Steve take in his first deep breath since he woke up. The breath subsequently gets stuck in his throat when he sees her wince after reaching out for the items with both hands. 

Steve quickly shakes a pill from the bottle, handing it to her and holding out the glass of water. She swallows the pill dry before accepting the glass and taking a sip.

“Thank you for bringing the saltines, but I’m not really hungry right now.” She says politely.

Steve and Bucky look at her in a funny way, a little confused and still showing lingering signs of concern. 

“What?”

“You have to eat just a little food with ibuprofen or you’ll feel sick after you take it.” Bucky explains, cocking his head to the side. “Do you not get sick after you take it?”

“You’re literally kidding me.” Ezra sits back into the pillows, a groan turning into a drowsy and incredulous huffed laugh. “That makes so much sense.”

“You never read the directions?” Steve asks amusedly. 

“No I did not.” She says. “I am, evidently, an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, doll. With all your brains you were bound to have a blind spot for something.” Bucky simpers.

“I didn’t think my blind spot would be reading basic directions.” She snorts, blinking heavily every few seconds as mild pains continue to fire up her arm, keeping her from falling asleep. 

Focusing on levelling out her breathing, Ezra gingerly lays her head on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to keep her left side stretched out and not compressed like it would be if she slouched over.

“Steve’s blind spot is planes.” Bucky jokes.

“That is so rude.” Steve says, the laugh he gives completely contradicting his terse tone. 

In the silence, he reaches out to take a hold of Ezra’s left hand, placing it palm up in his own left hand. He absentmindedly draws lines, letters, and shapes along her palm and forearm in an effort to distract her nerves from the only sensation they seem to be focusing on at the moment: pain. She’s half asleep, clinging to wakefulness because of the jolts of pain she’s still feeling.

“I only jumped out of a plane without a parachute a couple of times.” He weakly defends himself.

“That’s not too bad.” Ezra comments absentmindedly, yawning. 

“‘ _A couple_ ’.” Bucky throws back with an easy, tired grin, clearly not believing the story.

“Bucky’s blind spot is not liking chocolate.” Steve says, tracing a heart along Ezra’s wrist. 

“It feels like eating wet chalk.” He responds, tentatively leaning his head to sit on top of Ezra’s on his shoulder. “I’m so perfect that that’s the only thing you could think of.”

“You’re weird.”

“You’re strange.”

“Your parents are strange people, Ezra Jo. But we love you.” Steve promises, looking down to see she’d managed to nod off against Bucky’s shoulder some time during their quiet banter. 

“We sure do.” Bucky seconds, closing his eyes.

Steve watches his favorite person, and his new other favorite person sleep peacefully for a minute before he closes his eyes to nod off too. But before he does, he traces an I, a heart, and a U onto the palm of Ezra’s hand. She’d offhandedly told Bucky she wanted a tattoo earlier when she didn’t know he could hear, but that I love you could be an invisible tattoo inked only into his memory. 

\----

“The American dream has finally arrived!” Tony greets the three loudly as they exit the elevator on the common floor.

There’s some talking coming from the kitchen, with quiet rusting of plastic bags and the clink of ice hitting glasses. The sound is accompanied by easy, light laughter. Ezra can see Dr. Banner and Mr. Wilson, sitting on the big sofa, having a calm conversation. 

“Hi, Tony.” Steve says, sitting down on the sofa with Bucky beside him. 

Peter waves Ezra over to sit with him, scooting over to make room for her on the bean bag. 

“You know I can sit on my own bean bag, right?” She says, settling in beside him.

“You can just say you hate me.” Peter says, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“I do hate you.” She quips back, reaching out tentatively, slipping her hand under his, where it’s resting on his thigh, and holding it in hers. 

He takes it in his immediately, a light red ghosting his cheeks. He squeezes it tightly once, Ezra immediately returning the gesture. 

“How was yesterday?” He asks after a few beats of silence. 

“So cool,” Ezra answers, thinking about the way her chest would feel tight with how happy she was. “Weird. I can’t believe it happened. It feels fake.”

“I know the feeling.” Peter admits quietly. 

He does. The two of them are so similar and yet so completely different. They struggled with finding their footing in the world, their place, their people. They found their constant in each other. Their lives were constantly changing, but they always had each other. Peter found an identity as Spiderman, a community in the Avengers, and it is the best thing in the world to be able to give Ezra a place in this part of his world. It’s not just his place or his people anymore, it’s _theirs_.

“It’s real, Z.” Peter promises, squeezing Ezra’s hand again.

“Yeah.” She nods, giving him a content smile. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He says. “Wanna see new schematics for my suit?”

“You know I do.”

On the couch, Tony is trying to get a play by play of yesterday.

“You played piano for her? You’re such a boy scout, Rogers.”

Steve gives him a glare that has no weight behind it, shrugging.

“That’s all we did, really. Not much excitement.” Steve says.

“You glad she’s old enough to sleep through the night? Getting to skip the middle of the night wake-up call phase must be nice.” Sam jokes. 

Steve and Bucky’s jaws both clench at that, but Sam doesn’t push. He’d clearly hit something sensitive.

Luckily, Natasha and Clint come out of the kitchen after a few seconds of awkward silence, Clint loudly announcing that the Chinese food is all laid down on the counter and the drinks are out. 

Bruce and Tony quickly make themselves scarce, following Natasha and Clint into the kitchen. Sam waits for the two teenagers, still hand in hand like little lovebirds, to get out of earshot before he says anything.

“I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry I pushed a button, guys.” Sam apologizes. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

Bucky sighs, looking at Steve with furrowed brows. Steve frowns, nodding.

“You didn’t say anything. I won’t go into detail, but Ezra has some health problems that cause pain and FRIDAY woke us up last night so we could help her.” Steve explains. “Buck and I aren’t really sure if it’ll be a common thing. We’re just worried about it.”

“Ah, got you man.” Sam nods, shoulders slumping and letting go of tension. “I’m glad everything’s going relatively well, then.” 

“Us too.” Bucky says, grinning. 

Lunch is lively, much like the dinner Ezra had experienced the first time she visited the tower. She and Peter end up sitting close to the far end of the couch, by Bruce and Natasha. Bruce and Peter go between talking about science and current events, trying to bring Ezra in as much as she’s willing. Natasha, who is perched on the coffee table with a bowl of orange chicken, alternates between talking to Clint about the rock climbing grips he was installing on his floor and listening in to their conversation. Tony, Steve, Bucky, and Sam are all still talking about the past week’s events, catching Sam up too since he’s pretty much been at the VA or asleep all week.

“I think he finally asked her.” Tony smirks, twirling his fork in his bowl of lo mein. 

“No way, I give it at least another month before he gets the courage.” Sam says, pointing to Ezra, who slaps Peter’s shoulder playfully, and his face goes tomato red. 

“I called him on patrol last week and he was sitting on the fire escape with her. If that doesn’t scream whipped I don’t know what does.” Tony says.

“Oh my god, that’s so cute. Little New York lovebirds.” Sam laughs.

“I always thought of you two as annoying in-laws I got stuck with, but it looks like that might actually come true.” Tony jokes, grinning at Steve and Bucky.

“I wasn’t upset about it until you brought that up.” Bucky says.

“You know what, Terminator- I would make a fantastic in-law-” Tony says, getting cut off by a shrill beep from FRIDAY.

“Sir, Nick Fury is on the line. Says it’s urgent business.”

“How urgent?” Tony asks, standing up. “What kind of urgent?”

There’s a beat of silence, implying FRIDAY had relayed his question.

“The godly kind, sir. He asks that you and the available team meet him at SHIELD as soon as possible, though he wishes to inform you that in his opinion there is no obvious imminent danger.”

Everyone’s shoulders seem to drop at that, and the adults in the room all stand up. Peter goes to stand up to.

“No Spider-Man needed for this one, Pete. You stay here with Freud.”

Peter doesn’t bother arguing this time, realizing that FRIDAY’s hint of godly trouble could mean many things, but his first idea makes him shiver and sit back down immediately. He’s not going to voluntarily get involved in that.

“Helicopter leaves in ten.” Tony says unceremoniously, heading to the elevator, trailed by Natasha, Bruce, Sam, and Clint.

“Meet you there.” Steve says, crossing the room in a few strides to meet Ezra.

“You gonna be okay here for a few hours?” He asks, reaching out a hand to help her up.

“Yeah. I have Peter.” She takes his hand and says, looking towards the boy, who seems to be in his own world at the moment.

“Alright, doll. You call us if you need to, if it were a fight the alarm would’ve gone off, so it’s just a meeting.” Bucky tells her, reaching out his arm for a side hug.

“Okay.” Ezra agrees, giving Bucky a quick side hug, and Steve one too. 

“Bye, kid.” Steve says, before stepping into the elevator beside Bucky.

“Bye.” She waves nervously, watching the doors close.

As soon as they shut, she turns to Peter, who’s already looking at her.

“What is ‘godly business’?”


	8. new arrivals and there is a possibility of bad decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends we're back with another chapter on a Sunday when I should be getting ready for class tomorrow, whoops. :) ;)
> 
> As always, please please comment and let me know what you liked, would like to see, and thought about this chapter!!! I love love love comments and interacting with readers. 
> 
> Stay safe and well until I see you next time with a new chapter! 
> 
> <3,  
> July

This is not the Sunday morning Bucky was picturing weeks ago. 

It’s one in the morning, and Fury had just now entered the conference room the Avengers were herded into three hours earlier upon arriving at the SHIELD building. According to the agent assigned to come in every hour on the hour and update the team, Fury had been dealing with the apparent “collateral damage” of whatever had brought them to the headquarters since he called Tony. No-one would tell the team anything, making them all even more on edge. Tony had been this close to hacking into SHIELD’s databases so many times, having to get talked down by Bruce, who was trying his best to stay awake in his chair, but ended up napping with his head slumped to the side onto Natasha’s chair.

The groggy team manages to wake themselves as Fury strides in, dropping into the seat at the head of the table, which is scattered with coffee cups and random gear pieces the team didn’t end up needing, like Natasha’s bites and Bucky’s third gun. Fury sighs deeply, and without any fanfare, he launches into his spiel. 

“Loki’s back.” Is all he manages to get back before the whole team erupts in confusion and contempt. 

“I’m not finished!” Fury yells, silencing the room. “He, Thor, and the Asgardians touched down on the coast of Norway this evening, ten minutes before I called you. According to Thor, Asgard was destroyed in a battle to kill Odin’s firstborn daughter, who was attempting to take power and begin conquering more realms. He thinks Hela had something to do with New York. He’s positive she controlled Loki somehow.”

“Odin’s firstborn?” Tony questions, unsure he’d heard Fury right.

“Hela, goddess of death. Odin had her banished after her first attempt to take the throne. He died, and she came back for her title.” Fury explains. “Long story short, Asgard’s gone and we’ve got two gods and an alien community to figure out what to do with.”

The room falls silent, save for the noise coming from the air conditioning. Nobody knows what the next steps are. Do you call the government? Where do you put the Asgardians? Is there a place to hold Loki, who, last time they knew was supposed to be locked up in an Asgardian prison cell?

“So what do we do?” Sam finally asks, leaning back in his chair.

“The Asgardians were welcomed by local townspeople upon arrival. All we have to worry about now is Loki.” Fury answers. “And there seems to be a lot to worry about. Thor came out of the jet professing Loki’s innocence left and right, I could barely get a word in edgewise on the flight back here.”

“Do we believe it?” Clint asks skeptically, tearing the paper of his long empty coffee cup.

Fury’s constant facade of nonchalance falls briefly, a look of skepticism passing over his features. 

“That’s what you’re here to decide. Polygraph and psych evaluations came back an hour ago and the team’s sure they’re telling the truth. But, I figured you could all be the judge of that.” He says.

“Do we have the authority to do that?” Clint asks.

“No,” Fury answers. “But I figured seeing him face to face would make the other part of the problem easier to resolve.”

“And what would that be?” Natasha asks skeptically.

“If Loki’s acquitted, I can’t legally keep him under any supervision let alone make him live in a SHIELD cell. We’ll need to discuss his future living arrangements.” Fury responds, standing back up to pace along the huge windows that look out onto the lit up SHIELD campus, looking empty without bustling agents in training.

“And I have the closest thing to government surveillance you can think of.” Tony finishes Fury’s thought, sighing. 

Fury stops in his tracks, turning to face Tony, who is sitting across the large meeting room table, an apprehensive scowl painted on his face. 

“No, Nick. I’m not having a criminal take up residence in my tower because you don’t feel like finding another option. Especially not when there’s kids involved now.” Tony refuses, crossing his arms and angrily clutching his opposite biceps.

“He’s not a criminal if he’s been brainwashed.” Fury argues back.

“Brainwashed or not, he tried to take over the world and ended up nearly levelling New York in the process. People _died_ , Nick. And he was at the helm of the whole operation whether he really meant to be or not.” Tony spits, standing up and looking around the room.

Nobody’s looking at him. Nobody’s looking at Nick. 

They’re all trying to pretend they aren’t looking at Bucky, stealing quick glances between Nick and Tony, but always returning to linger on Bucky for a little too long to not notice. 

Bucky’s jaw is clenched, his hand firmly held in Steve’s. His gaze is toward the floor, not daring to look up, but he knows there’s eyes on him. 

Tony doesn’t have enough time to formulate some kind of apology, some kind of excuse.

“I’ll take you to see Loki. Then you decide what to do.” Fury breaks the silence, wordlessly heading out the door of the meeting room and expecting the group to follow.

The containment cell is eerily similar to the one from the ship, albeit smaller and without any emergency ejection protocols. It’s set in the very center of the top floor, surrounded by metal walls that are surely inches thick, so that even if he managed to get out of the cell the walls would keep him in without fail. The biggest difference between this picture and the one in everyone's memory of the ship’s cell is the man inside.

The man before the group looks nothing like the one they face just a few years prior. He’s stripped of fancy armor, despite him easily being able to use his magic to make himself appear with it. He looks oddly out of place in a large black long sleeve and sweatpants. He’s got longer hair, the vengeful look he wore during the attack completely absent. In its place sits a blank one, vaguely sad, but mostly resigned. Instead of the confident pacing he had done day in and day out years ago, he now sits with his back against the far wall of the cell, chin resting on his own knees.

He looks scared. The look doesn’t seem right on his face.

The team doesn’t say anything for a minute, waiting for something to happen, someone to break the thick blanket of silence. After a minute or two, they share pensive eye contact, and Natasha nods with her head to the far corner of the room by the doors. The team follows.

“What the fuck is going _on_?” Sam questions as soon as the huddle forms.

“I think Fury’s right.” Bruce sighs, pursing his lips. 

“Right or not, reindeer games is not going to live in my tower.” Tony refuses flatly.

“Think about it logically, Tony.” Steve says, certainly not looking happy by any stretch of the imagination. “This is the most amount of surveillance Loki can receive legally, plus we’ve already taken down him and an army. Taking just him down won’t be a problem if we ever need to.”

“You’re telling me you’re totally fine letting Ezra coexist in the same building as him?” Tony scoffs.

“I never said that.” Steve defends. “But Tony, if this is what it looks like, he’s just as much of a victim as everyone else.”  
“He’s still dangerous.” Tony seems to deflate, looking around to gauge the mood of the group. “I have to talk to him myself. I just, I can’t just take SHIELD’s word for it.”

“Of course he is, Tony. He’s a god, and we can’t take that lightly.” Bruce says. “We’re going to need fail-safes if we let him stay.”

The team nods, murmuring agreements. 

“Give him his own floor. Block access to anywhere in the tower except the floor he’s on.” Clint adds, and Natasha can see in his eyes the suggestion is just as much for him as it is for Tony. “He can’t screw with people he’s never in the same room with.”

“Good idea, Barton.” Tony nods, already thinking of new commands to program for JARVIS and which floors of the tower are open and livable. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“Are we all in agreement, then?” Natasha asks stiffly, eyeing the cage.

The team nods, all doing the same; sizing up the god, who once roamed New York and incited terror, sitting dejectedly against inches of anything-proof glass. What a switch in power dynamic this is.

Natasha wordlessly exits the circle, walking toward Fury and Coulson, who had made his way up to the holding cell during their huddle. The group starts to disperse too, heading toward the exits, ready to get back on the jet and into bed after the rollercoaster of today’s meeting.

“Rogers, Barnes, wait.” Tony calls after them. “We need to talk.”

Steve and Bucky look at each other briefly, talking without words in the weird soulmate-y way that makes Tony jokingly gag and complain loudly when the team’s all hanging out together. They meet him halfway.

“Barnes, I-” He stutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Steve nods tightly, clutching Bucky’s hand in his. Bucky returns the squeeze and matches Steve’s tight nod.

“I know it sounded awful. I should’ve- I spoke before I actually thought. I just thought about Peter, about Ezra, in the same room as him and it scared the hell out of me. I don’t want them to have to feel that fear. I’m so sorry.” Tony admits.

He’d regressed in that moment, closed off, because if he’s being honest with himself, he’s still scared shitless, And the idea that all that fear was inflicted against Loki’s will, it just completely flips his perception of reality on its head.

“Stark, it’s fine.” Bucky accepts after a tense silence. “Loki’s a touchy subject for you, and I’ve got touchy subjects of my own. We have bigger fish to fry right now. I’m glad you were worried for the kids.”

“What’s the plan for the kids?” Tony asks. “What do we tell them? The god responsible for the first crusade against the human race has been acquitted and is living in your house?”

“I don’t know, Tony. We have to tell them eventually. What’s your plan?” Steve asks, sighing. 

“Peter probably already knows. He can read between the lines because he knows what does and doesn’t constitute a call from Fury. If he asks, I’m not lying to him.” Tony frowns, arms crossing over his chest. “Honestly, the jig’ll be up tomorrow morning when I block his access to any floor but ours to keep him from seeing the move in.”

“Ezra could definitely connect the dots, it’s just a matter of how long it takes her.” Bucky speaks up seriously. “As long as Peter doesn’t spill anything and we keep her away from the tower tomorrow, we should be okay.”

“So we’re going with the ‘I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you everything’ plan?” Tony clarifies with a tight smile. “That’ll go over real well with Pierre and Marie Curie.”

“They won’t be that mad when we explain ourselves.” Steve says.

“We made sure to tell her it wasn’t a big deal, so she shouldn’t be too hellbent on figuring it out.” Bucky assures.

\----

“Peter, please tell me.”

“I don’t know anything, Z. I’m just worried.”

“Bullshit, Peter. I know what you look like when you’re lying.”

“No you don’t.” 

“You raise your eyebrows. You literally just did it!”

They’d been at it for at least five minutes, talking in circles. Peter wouldn’t give anything up, but if Ezra had anything, it was patience. Although, even that is wavering.

“I don’t actually know anything. I promise.” Peter says, crossing his arms.

“So you have an idea.” Ezra leads, going to fiddle with the tape on her wrists, only to hit bare skin. It had come off last night in the shower, leaving her with nothing to do with her hands.

“I- no!” 

“That’s a yes.” Ezra frowns. “If they’re doing something serious, I deserve to know.”

Peter exhales a long breath, glad for the reprieve from the circular argument they were having earlier. 

“They aren’t in danger. Fury said so.” Peter parrots FRIDAY’s announcement. 

Ezra very rarely gets visibly angry. She’s much more of the silent brooding alone in her room type, which is why it shocks Peter when he interrupts his pacing and looks up at her face.

Her jaw is tensed, eyes narrowed in anger as she looks right back at him. 

“Ezra, I just don’t want to scare you.” Peter tries, walking closer to her. She steps back.

“I just got this family, Peter. And I think it’s really shitty that you’re not telling me what you clearly know about where they are right now.” She spits, turning around before he can see the tears accumulating in her eyes.

“Hey, no. Z, just want to protect you.” He says, laying a tentative hand on her shoulder. 

“Protect me from _what_?” She whips around, throwing his hand off.

“I told you I don’t know!” Peter yells.

“Whatever, Peter. Whatever.” Ezra mumbles, turning and walking toward the elevator. 

Peter doesn’t try to stop her this time.

\----

Once she’s back on their floor, Ezra makes it to the couch before sitting down and letting the tears overwhelm her eyes.

Along with the tears flooding down her face, thoughts relentlessly flood her mind. Thoughts of the team, of Steve and Bucky. Where are they? Are they safe? Is something going on? Something big? 

I had only been a day, but she can’t imagine losing these people.

What had she signed up for? How had she not considered the fact that Avengers need to be Avengers before they need to care about the way their kid feels a little upset when they leave? Will she always feel like this when Steve and Bucky, when her _parents_ need to go do their jobs? Will every future mission feel like this for her?

Of course, she’ll probably know what those are about, at least a little bit. Unless they’re classified. At least she’ll have notice beforehand for those. She might even be able to keep in touch and check in on them.

Check in on them.

 _”You ask FRIDAY anything, kid. She can check in on stuff for you, or send a message, or order something. Whatever you want, Freud.”_ Tony had told her one day after she’d watched in amazement as Peter asked her to order peanut butter, and she’s given him an approximate delivery time the same day.

“FRIDAY?” She murmurs.

“Yes, Freud?” The AI intones pleasantly.

“Uh, just Ezra is okay. Is- can I ask you how Steve and Bucky are doing?” She asks, wiping stray tears.

“Of course, Freud. They are well. They appear to be on a quinjet flying back to the tower. Their blood pressure and heart rates are within normal range, albeit slightly elevated.”

She laughs wetly at the AI’s refusal to call her by her name. Tony’s doing, of course.

“Thank you, FRIDAY.”


End file.
